Newspaper Page Text
386
[For the Soutbom FieM ami Fireside.]
ONE O'CLOCK.
One o'clock! In the brilliant hall
Bright'eves flash to the music's call;
Light forms float in the mazy dance.
Where heart meets heart and glance meets glance;
Where hands in a thrilling clasp entwine,
And blushes glow like the beaded wine.
One o'clock! On his couch of |>aiu
The child is trying to find, in rain.
Best from the fever that burns his brain.
His mother watches with hopeless eyes,
With enclasped hands and bitter sighs.
For the rest that comes, eternal, deep.
To fold his hands In a dreamless sleep.
One o'clock! On the stormy sea
A ship is driven helplessly;
And hearts arc dumb with a great despair,
While white lips murmur in wordless prayer.
Alas! alas! for the good aud brave,
They find in the ocean's bed a grave.
And above them plays the sunbright wave.
One o'clock! On the city’s sea
A wreck is tossing hopelessly,
A human wreck in her misery.
To her parched lips there come no prayers,
For her burning eyes there are no tears;—
My God! is her soul forever lost?
Is there no hope for the tempest-tost?
L’lnionsie.
zw The following sketch of the greatest of i
modern Tragedians, taken from Memories d' un
Bourgeois de Paris, (Dr. L. Veron,) will be pe
rused with interest by most of our readers:
BACHEI.
TRANSLATED FROM TH* FRENCH BT BKTTT BASHFUL. *
One fine summer evening, the 12th of June,
1838, seeking shade and solitude, (if you seek
carefully shade and solitude may be found even
in Paris,) I entered toward eight or nine o’clock
the Theatre Francois. There were only four
persons in the orchestra*, I making the fifth.—
My attention was attracted to the play by a sin
gular face, full of expression, a prominent fore
head, and a brilliant, deeply-set eye. Thesft
were supported upon a frail and slender body,
but in which there was a certain eleganco of
position, movement,' and attitude. A ringing
voice, sympathetic, of the most delightful into
nation, and above all, very intelligent, fixed my
mind, which was distracted and more disposed
to indolence than to admiration. This striking
face, this piercing eye, this fragile body, this pe
culiar intelligent voice was Rachel. She was
making her first appearance on the French
stage, in the character of Cami’le, in “ Horace.”
The lively and profound impression which this
young tragedienne, at a glance, made upon me,
awakened in me confused recollections. Re
flecting, I recalled to mind a singular young
girl playing the role of the Vendeeune at the The
atre du Gymnase. I recalled, also, a young
girl, poorly clad, with coarse shoes, who* upon
being asked, in my presence, in the corridor of
the theatre, what she did, replied, to my great
astonishment, in a low voice and serious tone,
“I am pursuing my studies." I found in Ra
chel this striking face of the Gymnase, and this
poorly clad young girl who was “ pursuing her
studies.”
The youthful Rachel astonished mo; —
her talent enamored me. I could not re
frain from placing my hand upon my
Iriend Merle whose tastes and literary impulses
I shared, and constrain him to attend to the
acting of her whom I already called my little
prodigy. “ This child,” said I to him, “when
the twelve or fifteen hundred good critics that
constitute public opinion in Paris, shall have
heard and judged her, will be the pride aud the
fortune of la Comedie Francaise.”
The talent and success of my tragedienne be
came from that time a fixed idea and a business
with me. Before saying good morning to gen
tlemen, I asked them, “ Have you seen her in
‘ Horace ’ or ‘ Andromache ?’ ’’ During the
months of June and July, few ]>eople seemed to
'be converted to my new worship; whilst Rachel
played Camille, Etnilie, Hermione, the apostles
of this new religion, of this new divinity,
preached in the desert. From the month of Au
gust, notwithstanding the intense heat, the de
bate of Rachel in the same characters were al
ready more attended. When the house appear
ed nearly filled, I wiped my forehead, and like
the fly upon the coach wheel, I said to myself
with a complacency amounting to pride, “We
will have satisfaction from the public—ftachel
and I. Behold, at last, some people who have
common sense.”
Finally, during the entire month of October,
the young tragedienne played nine times, and
her smallest receipt swelled to three thousand
six hundred and sixty-nine francs, ninety cen
times. Her receipts exceeded six thousand
francs when she played “ Hermione," if was a
complete victory, and an astounding triumph.
Racine and Corneille revived among us as in
the great age of Louis XIV.; a feverish popu
larity encompassed the young tragedienne and
classic tragedy.
While yet a child, Rachel was admitted to the
“Conservatory,” solicited private lessons from an
artist justly esteemed and of undoubted talent,
a member of the society of Coinedie-Francaise.
At the sight of this poor girl, frail and suffering,
he said to her, “Go sell flowers, mv child.” The
young “Hermione” one evening, with charming
grace, and commendable disdain, took her re
venge upon her adviser for his false prophecy.
The hall was crowded; all the boxes were filled
with the beau monde; Rachel had just played
Hermione ; applauded with enthusiasm, fran
tically encored, she was able, (the curtain being
lowered), to fill her Greek tunic with the flow
ers thrown upon the stage? She_ then ran to
him, whose only lesson had been to advise her
to “ sell flowers,” and falling upon her knee,with
the meat- graceful coquetry, said, “ I have fol
lowed your advice, Monsieur Provost, I sell flow
ers ; will you buy some ?” The learned profes
sor smilingly raised the young artiste, and testi
fied his delight at having been so completely de
ceived. ******
Nature has endowed Rachel with every gift
which fine playing requires. Her voice has
volume and power. It is susceptible of an ex
traordinary variety of inflexions. It is capable
of rendering the stringent expression of fury
without screaming and being boisterous. There
is no defect of pronunciation. Her lips and
mouth are most happily conformed for beautiful
and perfect articulation. There exists between
the small and prettily folded ear and the point
of the shoulder, a harmonious distance, giving
grace and dignity to every movement of the
head. Her figure is flexible and slender, a little
above the ordinary height. Her feet and hands
are beautifully moulded. Her walk is firm and
*ln Paris, the “Orchestra" designates several rows of
choic* seats Immediately behind the musicians, between
the pit and the stage, where the critics, “Feuilletonists”
and amateurs usually establish themselves. Ladies are
also admitted there in some theatres.
X££ SPTTT&&EKE XX£LB JOTO VXRXSXBK.
majestic. Her chest alone is narrow and con
tracted. Rachel, in society, in the midst of the
most distinguished ladies, would be remarked
for the nobleness and natural dignity of her car
riage. Incesm patuit dea. Jt is impossible for
her to make a movement —to assume a posture,
an attitude, that would be uneasy or awkward.
She .dresses for the stage with wonderful art.
Upon the stage, she displays an intelligent study
of ancient statuary. Her tragic features can ex
press despair, hatred, pride, wrong, and contempt
—contempt, that effective weapon, as powerful
in theatrical, as in oratorical art
One might desire, in some of Rachel's ro’es,
more sensibility. She imparts life to a word, a
look, a gesture, in the expression of violent pas
sions; but her heart cannot so well express and
paint the emotions of tenderness ami love All
the talent of the artiste fails often in depicting
intensely-painful emotions. In her tragic play,
these emotions become physical, and then she
speaks fitfully—by snatches—she pauses, gasps,
and trembles, and writhes convulsively. She
thus represents antique grief, pagan grief.—
Whatever truly conies from the heart is utter
ed with more deep emotion, and with simplicity;
the voice alone is the passionate and sympathet
ic interpreter of the delights or the anguish of
the soul. It is not without reason that it has j
been said of more than one great tragedienne: j
“ She has tears in her voice.” Adrienne Lecouv
reur, Champmesle Duehesnois, had sensibility.
It is chiefly by its electric action that they cap
tivated, by melting their public. Rachel admon
ishes, charms, moves by an enunciation which
does not fail either in correct conception, nor in
richness, nor in grandeur. She creates in her
studied recitals the hope of sympathetic tender
ness, of profound and intense emotion; but she
stops sometimes on the way. After having car
ried her audience resistlessly along with her,
and held them in breathless suspense, she leaves
theiri without illusion, if not cold, at least with
souls calm and serone. Her talent captivates
and satisfies) the intellect without, but does not
grasp the heart; it does not penetrate so deeply.
It is especially surprising that the health of
this frail young girl should have been able to
bear up against so much fatigue, against such
exhausting renditions, against so many long and
laborious journeys. Accompanied by an itine
rant troupe, supported at her expense, our great
tragedienne has caused the genius of Racine
and Corneillo to be admired in England, in Ger
many, at St. Petersburg. In France, she ha#
appeared upon the boards in all the great thea
tres of our provinces, and often even in the small
est towns, all astonished and abashed at seeing
themselves the recipients of so much poetry and
condescension. During these long excursions
Rachel slept, while traveling, upon a bed pre--
pared in her carriage. I once expressed to her
my astonishment that her health could resist so
much fatigue. “These journeys,” replied she
to me, “on the contrary, do me great good; the
movement, the excitement, chase away dejec
tion and wicked thoughts, and silence evil incli
nations.” ******
She exists only by the theatre and for the thea
tre. The dazzle of the foot-lights, a prompter 1 ,
fine verses to recite, violent passions to express,
a minister to charm and captivate, a director to
rule over and annoy—all these are necessary to
her existence. And, moreover, she must have
the war and intoxication of applause. * *
My lot has thrown me in the midst of a great
number of women belonging to the stage: I have
never met one who had so much about her that
was singular—so much that was extraordinary,
as Mademoiselle Rachel; so many inconsistent,
jarring personal passions. I have never seen
one of origin so low rising to such giddy eleva
tion. I can hardly believe that Champmesle,
Duclos, Adrienne Lecouvreur, Dumesnil, Gaus
sin, Clairon, and many others sung by the im
mortal poets of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, were more worthy of so much honor,
and so much homage, than is the great Irwjedi
enne of our time. I fegret that Racine and
Corneille cannot, from the depth .of their tombs,
illustrate the young tragic muse by verses in her
honor. Has she not achieved, as it were, a re
surrection of their genius, and crowned them
with her triumphs ? I regret that the poets of
our day—that Casimir Delavigne, Victor Hugo,
and Lamartine, (especially the latter, whose fame
is immortal), have not dedicated to our tragedi
enne, in some moment of poetic inspiration,
verses of praise and admiration. She is worthy
of such homage. It would be but justice thus
to protect her fame from the ravages of Time
and' Oblivion.
—i»>
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE WHITTINGTON CLUB.
No. 5.
Winter had not passed,but the eyening was so
mild and genial that Whittington proposed they
should hold this meeting of the “ Club ” in his
piazza. A soft breeze was blowing from the
river, so soft that the leaves of the evergreens
were barely stirred, and the smoke of the gen
tlemen's segars rose almost perpendicularly in
the moonlight. /
Whittington. —What a glorious night! Ido
not remember to have seen anywhere such a
serene transparency of atmosphere since, years
ago, I visited the Lago Maggiore. I can deci
pher my notes as clearly as if it were noon
day.
Bishop. —l am glad to see that your hand is
full of them. The publishers are wonderfully
prolific; they deluge us with books that come
as fast as hailstones, and some of them as
heavy; but these—the dull books, are just at
present the exceptions. ’Tis only now and then
that a leaden octavo is aimed at our heads, and
after all, nothing is easier than to dodge the
clumsy missile, which forthwith sinks out of
sight and remembrance.
Whittington. —A fine specimen of that class
of works is called The Path which led a Protestant
Lawyer to the Catholic Church. It is written by
Mr. Peter 11. Burnett, whose enormous egotism,
or charmingly innocent enthusiasm, (which
ever you please to think it) has led him
to believe that the general public will take in
terest in a work of 7 41_ octavo pages, detailing
his personal experiences and re-stating for the
thousandth time, facts, arguments, traditions
and theological inferences, which are known to
the initiated and to the uninitiated are 'matters
of absolute indifference. If the work is meant
to proselytize, its bulk is fatal to that purpose;'
if, on the other hand, the author would have us
regard it as an abstract argument chiefly, that is
as another logical defence of Roman Catholi
cism, to be perused in the closet by the curious
and inquiring few—again his effort must be
deemed a failure, because there are scores of
works upon the same topic, more compact, orig
inal, and instructive than his own.
Bishop. —And yet, in glancing over certain
chapters of this book, (for I, too, have a copy,)
it struck me they were well written.
Whittington. —Mr. Burnett’s style is, no doubt,
passable; but his affected curtness of expres
sion becomes exceedingly wearisome in the end.
He seems to delight in docking the tails or cut-
ting off the heads of his sentences, which are |
consequently too often crude and uneuphonious.
Bishop. —ls I had my will, theological con
troversies, and theological productions leading
to controversy, should be made indictable of
fences. The display of the odium theologicum
in any form, is to me one of the most terrible
and disgusting tilings in the world. Amid this
eternal clamor of rival sectaries. I exclaim with
Mercutio, “,A plague on alt your houses!”
W kittington. —Right, Bishop!—every sincere
Christian must agree with you. that angry de
nunciations of our fellows upon minor points of
belief, in the face of the majestic and merciful
doctrines of “ the Sermon on the Mount," are
terrible indeed!
Bishop. —True 1 but until the dawn of the
Millenium, which, according Jo Dr. Curaming,
is now at hand, those broils and conflicts must
go on. 'Tis vain to bewail them ; vainey still,
to dream of their suppression. Let us turn to
some more agreeable work!
Whittington. — The Narrative of Lord Elgin's
Mission to China and Japan, for example, writ
ten by Ijaurtnce Oliphant, republished" from the
first London edition. This has been justly con
sidered. in England, as the most important and
entertaining production of the season.' It is im
portant as a lucid diplomatic record, and enter
taining be .-ause of the animated pictures it pre
sents of personal adventure among remote and
eccentric peoples. In the latter particular, every
reader witli a spark of that nomadic passion in
his soul cliaracteristio.of the Anglo-Saxon race,
must peruse the book with eagerness and en
thusiasm. The size of the volume will not, in
this case, alarm him!
Bishop. —l haven’t, as yet, received the work;
is much new information imported in reference
to China and Japan? I thought that Monsieur
Hue had well nigh exhausted the subject of
Chinese life and manners, at least 1
IF hittington. —Exhausted the subject of Chi
nese life I why, my dear fellow, the topic is in
exhaustible. After the lapse of twelve centu
ries, we are just upon the threshold of discovery
concerning that remarkable nation. As for the
Japanese, we knew next to nothing of them un
til the appearance of this “Narrative.”
Bishop. —You forget that Mr. Harris, the
American Consul at Simoda, lias given us much
useful testimony on the point to which you
allude. Besides, you must do justice to several
ancient travelers, who, in defiance of Japanese
exclusiveness, explored the country centuries
ago. The excellent Father St. Xavier should re
ceive his due as a keen observer, no less than
as a patient, indomitable martyr.
Whittington. —l hasten to make the amende
Honorable to his Saintship, to Mr. Harris, and
all others who may deserve it. Still, the gener
al statement of tho great superiority of Mr. Oli
phant’s “ Narrative” to the previous works upon
Japan, remains unquestionably true. His oppor
tunities of calm, careful, unprejudiced observa
tion were such as no other traveler had enjoy
ed, and Mr. Oliphant seems to have made the
very best use of his advantages. The first por
tion of this volume, devoted to Ohina, and Lord
Elgin’s mission there, being uecessarily full of
allusions to complicated official matters, need
not be read with the care, and cannot be read
with the interest, demanded by the latter portions
which treat exclusively of the embassy’s for
tunes in Japan.
Bishop. —l observe, however, that the British
Reviews speak in high terms of the first volume,
viewing it, in a national sense, as exceedingly
able and suggestive.
Whittington. —And, no doubt, tliey speak
truly. If the volume contained nothing more
than the exposure of Sir Michael Seymour’s mis
conduct in procastinating his support of Lord
Elgin, who was finally compelled to sail to the
mouth of the Peiho river without him, it w’ould
have been enough to attract the attention of the
British ministry and people. But, in speaking
of the superior interest of the second volume, I
referred to its intrinsic interest, as a record of
singular events, experiences, and observations,
which must continue to delight the public, long
after Lord Seymour’s, blunder shall have been
forgotten.
The reception of the Englishmen in Japan
surprised and charmed the whole party. Not
only did they find themselves in a country and
among a people, so novel, that, with but a slight
exertion of fancy, they might have thought
they were removed to another planet, but ow
ing to the terms of cordial equality, upon which
the Japanese met them, all danger of disagree
able collision was avoided.”
It was on the afternoon the 2d of August
(1858), that the members of the embassy, steam
ing up the Bay of Nagasaki, first saw indica
tions of land in the shape of high, pointed
rocks of picturesque form, covered over with
verdure. Early on the following morning they
passed the islands of lwosima. The first object
visible, was an evidence of civilization, unknown
among the Chinese. A flag-staff, planted on a
hill, telegraphed their appearance to the main
land. They subsequently learned that cannons
were noisily repeating the signal the whole way
to the capital; so that his majesty, the Tycoon
at Yeddo, seven hundred miles away, was in
formed that they had entered the Bay of Naga
saki, by the time that they had dropped their
anchor in it. Mr. Oliphant’s description of the
capital city fc (which is simply a fair specimen of
the other large towns of the kingdom,) shows
how perfect are the Japanese municipal laws,
and how completely the people in their personal
habits differ from the majority of Orientals.—
Every street in Yedo has its magistrate, whose
business it is to settle all disputes, to inform
himself of the - minutest details of everybody’s
affairs, private and public, and to keep a care
ful account of births, deaths and marriages. He
is elected by the popular voice of the inhabitants
of the street, for whose general good conduct
he is held responsible. We are told that the
thoroughfares of Yeddo, like all Eastern thor
oughfares, are infested with dogs,—not the
wretohed, half-starved and wholly abominable
brutes, encountered by the traveler in Constan
tinople, Smyrna, and all over India, but sleek,
lordly animals, who acknowledge no masters,
and who live upon the willing bounty of the
community. They are held in the highest re
spect : special guardians protect them, and hos
pitals (think of this!) have been erected, to which
they are tenderly borne in case of illness 11 —
The only large animals in Japan are horses,
oxen, cows and buffaloes. But, strange to say,
milk, cheese and butter are unknown luxuries.
There are no asses, mules, pigs or sheep. The
only large game of importance are the deer, l of
which,’ says Mr. Oliphant, ‘ very few remain.’
Tho people are noted for . extreme cleanliness;
their good health may be attributed to the con
stant use of the bath. Light screens of wood,
running on slides, are pushed Dack in the day
time, and the passer may look through the
house ‘to where the waving shrubs of a cool
back garden invite him to extend his investiga
tions.’ Between the observer and this retreat,
there are several rooms raised some feet from
the ground, and upon well wadded matting
semi-nude men and women lounge, in company
with their altogether nude progeny, who crawl
about, feasting themselves luxuriously at ever
present fountains. The women seldom wear
anything above the waist, and the men only a
scanty loin-cloth. In the mid-day of summer a
general air of languor pervades the community,
but about sunset the world begins to wash, and
the Japanese youth riot tumultuously.
The government is a sort of feudal aristocra
cy ; besides the Emperor, there are three hun
dred and sixty princes, each of whom reside for
six months of the year in Yedo, and for the re
mainder of the season upon his estate in the
country. The kingdom is divided into about seven
hundred fiefs. Political power appears to be
vested in the hands of an Oligarchy, who con
trol the State Council,composed of five members
of the “ upper-ten ’’ Aristocracy, chosen by the
Tycoon hiraself.and a minor council consisting of
eight titular Princes! But the most curious of
the Japanese governmental customs is an im
memorial habit of attaching to every human
being in the country, a spy or double, who,while
scrutinizing the actions of his companion, is
subjected by him to an equally rigid scrutiny of
his own conduct. This system of espionage thus
conducted, is said to work admirably. Even the
Tycoon spies, and is spied upon.
When the treaty with which Lord Elgin had
been entrusted was finally signed, his lordship
deemed it proper to give the Japanese commis
sioners (who, throughout the negotiations, had
behaved in the most gentlemanly manner) a
grand banquet.
“This,” says Mr. Ohphant, “was a custom
new to them, and they had scarcely had time to
comprehend its meaning, before their ears were
startled by the noisy ‘ honors,’ with which it
was immediately followed. Quickly taking
their cue, however, the * three-times-three ’ had
not been rung out before it was lustily joined in
by our guests. The next toast wa3 the health
of his majesty, the Tycoon , which wak no less
uproariously responded to, tho commissioners,
by this time having arrived at a pitch of enthusi
asm and champagne, which made them enter
warmly into the proceedings of the evening.—
When you. in the West, want to konor a per
son especially , you roar and shout after your
meals. It was a curious custom but they un
derstood it now.” Indeed, to prove it, Sina-No
no-Itami, a very grave old man, during a dead
pause in the conversation, suddenly started to
his feet and emitted a stentorian cheer, after
which he sat solemnly down, the effect on the
rest of the company being to produce an irresis
tible shout of laughter!! ”
Bishop. —The account you give of this book
and the wonderful things it reveals, has made
me very eager to examine it.
Whittington. —Take ray copy, then, until your
own arrives.
Bishop. —Thank you, Frank! and now, what
else have you got to read to us? I see that your
notes are not exhausted.
Whittington. —A few memoranda only remain.
Here is another fat octavo, which includes all of
Macaulay's Essays, Speeches and Poems. It is a
cheap, but excellent edition, within the reach
of almost everybody’s meaus. lam glad of this,
because Macaulay is an author whose works I
wish to see universally disseminated.
Bishop. —l cannot join in your wish! Os all
evil things, the worst is to impose upon the peo
ple a false political ethical teacher. As a Histo
rian, Macaulay has been proved, in many im
portant particulars, utterly untrustworthy. (Re
member. as a single instance, Hugh Miller’s ex
posure of his bitter injustice to the Covenant
ers.) As an essayist, although I admire his
style intensely, I think he looks to effect rather
than to truth; or, to be more correct, he does
not hesitate to sacrifice truth in order to make
some brilliant, startling point. This is done de
liberately, ahd with malice prepense, for, in ac
curacy of acquirement, and native clearness of
view, Macaulay has had few superiors. That
he possesses, in an eminent degree, the power
of making “the worse appear the better reason,”
only redoubles the force of the argument which
would deny his claim to be considered a safe,
popular teacher. Look at his essay upon Lord
Bacon: I consider it, throughout a plausible
and brilliant piece of pre-determined special
pleading. Facte, never misstated, are yet inge
niously perverted, and a tissue of sophistry has
been woven around the whole subject the daz
zling lustre of which coufounds the judgment,
and for a time compels us to believe that the
writer’s opinions are correct.
Whittington. —Well, so far as Bacon is con
cerned, I hold that Macaulay’s view is mainly
the true one. Not to discuss that topic, how
ever, I am free to acknowledge that Macaulay,
like his fellow-mortals, great or small, had his
prejudices; the chief of these sprung from
his habit of regarding most subjects, ancient and
modern, through the discolored medium of a po
litiqgl creed. His errors, no doubt, were numer
ous ; in some instances he may, as you observe,
have even stooped wilfully to pervert the truth;
but who among the greatest of England's authors
devoted to the same line of literature, and sub
ject to the same temptations which beset Ma
caulay—who, I gay, among them, were it possible
to invest those worthies with the power, would
dare to cast at him the first stone ? No, my dear
Bishop, all questions of this kind are of a com
parative nature. When, therefore, I expressed
a wish that Macaulay, popular as he now is,
might become still more so, I was drawing a
mental comparison between his writings and
intellect, and those of other famous historians
and essayists. Depose him, and who is to oc
cupy bis place? Not Hazlitt, whose criticism,
the moment he stepped beyond his much-loved
territory of the old British (especially the Eliza
bethan) drama, became short-sighted, captious,
and unreasoning—whose histories are worthless,
because they embodylittle more than the personal
spleen and reckless antagonism of a disappoint
ed Liberal; —not Wilson, or Jeffrey, or Carlisle,
or Alison, or Hunt, or Lamb, or Talfourd; for
Macaulay (not as a thinket, mark you! but as a
popular instructor), is a more “available” writer
than any onejaf these, and is likely to be more
serviceable generally. By the way, Hal! I
strongly suspect you are “ down” upon Macau
lay because of his letter to Randall, in reference
to the United States Government. • I know
your unconquerable fidelity to “Church and
State.”
Bishop. —l do think that letter of his as shal
low and impertinent an epistle as ever bore the
signature of an intelligent man!
Whittington. —lt was certainly calculated to
wound our national self-love; but / cannot see
its shallowness, nor acknowledge its imperti
nence. His view, on the contrary, is profound
and statesmanlike, supported by the experience
of tho past, by the events now transpiring, and
I firmly believe, by the unalterable laws of our
human constitution! What is Macaulay’s propo
sition ? Simply this, that “ where the supreme
authority of a State is entrusted to the majority
of the citizens told ly the head, (i. e. to the poorest,
most ignorant part of society,) pure democracy is
sure, sooner or later, to degenerate into mobocra
cy, which must prove destructive to both liberty
and civilization!”
Universal history supports this opinion. There
is not, moreover, an election in any one of our
large cities, or a single session of Congress,
which fails in adding proof to proof that Jeffer
son's abstract dogmas, when brought to a prac
tical test, are as unsubstantial, as untenable as
the visions of the night. I know you will say
that the descendant of Tory ancestors is no fair
judge upon a point like this. You presume that
my monarchical prejudices are rampant, and
that lam incapable of appreciating the beauty ’
and symmetry of our system of government I
wish to Heaven, that I could appreciate them!
But when I behold, in the highest legislature of
the country,scenes like thatjwhieh took place up
on the sth day of April, I tell you that I cannot
shut my eyes to the terrible dangers surround
ing the Republic. Ido begin to fear the final •
inauguration of an era, “ destructive to liberty,
or civilization, or both!"
Bishop. —And I fear no such disasters! I
have an indomitable faith in the destiny of the
Union. The dangers of which you speak are
apparent rather than real. We shall overcome
them all. To be frank. I'cannot understand
how in the noontide of our prosperity as a peo
ple you feel impelled to croak so dismally !
Whittington. —’Tis useless to argue about the
future; only, Bishop, remember, that the body
politic, like our human body, may be verv
“ beautiful outwardly,’’ and yet “ within” be full
of rancorous and fatal disease! When Nero, Vi
tellius, Domitian, &c., &e., reigned in Rome, the
Roman name seemed omnipotent; the Roman
sceptre governed the world; the Roman fleet
and arms were everywhere; but still, in half a
century, the entire fabric was obliterated, and
the Hun and Visigoth sported their goat-skins
and drained their goblets in the Senate cham
ber and on the steps of the capitol! It is an
old, old story, but when will mankind learn its
moral ?
Bishop. — Never, I hope, as you interpret it!
But really, Frank, we had better let politics
alone. What a serious misfortune letters and
society have sustained lately in the death of
that distinguished woman and most pleasing
writer, Mrs. Jameson!
Mrs. Whittington. —Yes, indeed! It would be
hard, I think, to overrate her excellencies, the
feminine sensibility, the clear good sense, the
high-toned feeling and morale of almost all her
works.
Whittington. —Yes, she was a true woman,
and a thoughtful, earnest, sincere thinker.—
Many of her art-criticisms, especially, will live;
they are not so pretentious, nor so striking as
Ruskin’s, but I believe them to be more truth
ful. With all his glittering, gorgeous rhetoric,
there is something hollow about that man.
Bishop. —Did you see Blackwood’s savage on
slaught upon his last book, “ The Elements of
Drawing”?
Whittington. —l did, but the malice of the
article is too evident, and destroys much of its
effect as a criticism.
Mrs. Whittington (who had gone into the parlor,
returns, hearing a MS.) —In defiance of my
husband's orders, Mr. Bishop, (you know he’s a
tyrant) I have brought some verses of his,which
I insist upon reading before you go. They
don’t rise to the dignity of poetry, he tells me,’
but as they commemorate an occasion, which
must be interesting to his friend as well as to
myself. I shall venture to disobey the Sultan’s
edict for once.
Mrs. Whittington reads the following :
BIRTHDAY VERSES.
(I 860.) *
I.
My youth is passed! this morn I 6tand,
With manhood's signet of command,
Firm-planted on life’s middle land!
11.
Behind the scene recedes afar.
Where cloudy mists and vapors inar
The lustre of my morning star.
111.
I mark the courses of my days,
Inwound thro' many a doubtful maze.
To marvel at those devious ways;—
IV.
They lead o'er hills and levels lone,
Green fields and woodlands overgrown,
And where deep waters pulse and moan:—
v.
By ruined tower, by darksome dell —
The home of night-birds fierce and fell, —
Wherein strange s’ , sos Horror dwell
VI.
Oat to the blessed sunshine free,
The breezy moors of liberty,
And skies outpouring harmony;—
VII.
By palace-wall, by haunted tomb—
Thro' dark and bright, thro’ joy and goom,
My Life hath known both blight and bloom
VIII.
And now, as from some mountain height,
Backward I strain my eager sight,
'Till all the landscape melts in night;—
IX.
Then whispering to my heart “behold!”
I turn from years whose tale is told,
To greet the Future's dawn of gold;
•x.
High hopes and nobler labors wait
Beyond that Future’s opening gate,—
Brave deeds which hold the seeds of Fate.
XL
Thy strength, 0, Lord! shall fire my blood!
Shall nerve my soul, make wise my mood,
And win me to the pure and good;—
XII. <
Or, if, O, Father! thou shoutds't say
“ Dark angel! close his mortal day,”
And smite me on my vanward way:—
•v XIII.
Grant, that in armor, firm and strong,
Whilst pealing still life's battle song,
And struggling manfully’gainst Wrong, •
XIV.
Thy soldier, who would fight to win
No crown of dross, no bays of sin—
May fall amid the foremost din
xv.
Os truth’s grand conflict—blest by Thee, —
And ee’n tho’ Death should conquer—see
How false, how brief his victory!!
P. 11. 11.
mi --»♦♦-
Mu. Munsell, of Albany, lias in press, as the
next volumes of his historical series, ‘ The
Loyalist Verses’of Stansbury and Odell, com
prising a collection of the unpublished Loyalist
Poetry of the Revolution, with introduction and
Notes, by "Winthrop Sargent, Esq.,' and ‘Bur
goyne's Orderly Book during the whole of his
memorable campaign, ’ from tho time the army
assembled at Cumberland, 20th June, to its
capitulation, October 17th 1777, with numerous
historical and biographical notes, in which
sketches of several British and American offi
cers will be given for the first time, with map,
and portraits of Burgoyne and Schuyler.’