I looked about me, with a design to escape; totally forgetting my pledge; but as I moved towards the door, I saw the large entry crowded with men, among whom was the high-sheriff I had seen before. He held an open warrant in his hand; but where was the uncle? I was afraid to ask-the deep, deep silence about, awed me. Here were the ministers of the law waiting for their prey-there was indeed no possibility of escape now-there was the wife, the young and beautiful wife, I thought, by the glance I had of her; the distracted and heart-broken wife, I knew, as she lay cold and lifeless upon the bosom of her husband. I went up to her-I spoke to her-I spoke to him; but she lay there like a dead creature, and as for him, he sat with his mouth pressed to her forehead, as if he would never, never breathe again. At last the officer drew nigh, and was about to whisper something in the ear of the offender; but the hair of his beautiful wife-she was beautiful-I could see that now-stirred for a moment, probably with his breath, and the officer and I both drew back, affrighted at the aspect of the man. "Be still; I know your errand," said he, after waiting a minute or two longer; "be still, I am ready to go with you, wheresoever ye will; but I cannot leave hershe must go with me-dead or alive, we go together, this body and I, this flesh of my flesh; we never part again." and lifted the head, saw, or fancied he saw, signs of life. "Throw open the window!" cried he; open every window in the house-leave the room clear-touch that bell, sir!" The crowd withdrew, and left us together; and, after a moment or two, a middle-aged, respectable woman, entered. He whispered earnestly to her, and, as he did so, I watched his countenance, and I saw, plainly as I ever saw anything in my life, a smile of subdued triumph, almost of joy, flit over his rugged features. as "Surely," said I, to myself, "there must be some mistake here; we have judged too harshly; that cannot be the body of a murdered woman." As I spoke, she moved, and her husband was on his knees before her, beseeching her to open her eyes, and speak to him. But she heard not, she answered not, she moved not. "Oh, my wife! my wife!" cried he, holding both her hands to his mouths, and kissing them with insatiate and frantic joy. "O, Eleanor! open but your eyes once more, upon your repentant and broken-hearted husband, and he will die in peace! Will you not, dear?" He stooped over her, and waited awhile; and listened, and by-and-by a low breathing was heard, and her pallid lips, when they were touched with a white handkerchief, betrayed the source of the stain that thrilled us with such horror. The unhappy wife had probably ruptured a blood-vessel. And then he stood up, righteously and bravely up, The look with which this was said, the piteous, and said to his uncle, with a voice like a man, "As for though determined look, and the voice of unutterable me, sir, I do not wish to live; I am ready to die. grief and misery with which it was accompanied the I deserve death, and I acknowledge it, for what I have poor creature hardly spoke above his breath, yet every-done this day; but, save her-save the child of your and pray body heard him-went to our very hearts; there was dead wife-save her, and I will bless for not a dry eye in the room. you, with the last breath I draw." "But, where is Doctor Farrer ?" asked the sheriff; "it is already four minutes over the time." "No such thing, sir. It is exactly time," said the doctor, entering with what I regarded, at first, as a look of dismay, and then as a terrible counterfeit. I wondered at the change; he was altogether a different man, cold, austere, and peremptory now. you, "I see no use in it, even if I had the power," said the stern old man. "Officer-officer, I say, see to your charge, and have my house cleared of the people." The officer prepared to obey; but he would have had some difficulty, had not the uncle said"Look you, Robert Steele; if you do not go without another word-you know me your wife, there, shall "Do your duty, Mr. Sheriff," said he, "I have done never revisit this earth again, with my leave. Take mine. He is in your custody now." your choice "going to the door, and holding it open— "either you or I." "Sir! you will not leave your nephew?" said I, astonished at his aspect, so different from what it was when he left us a little time before. "And, why not, sir?" "Uncle Joshua," said his nephew, laying what appeared to me to be the body of his wife, calmly and reverentially, upon the sofa; "Eleanor is no more." As he spoke, he held up his hand; it was tinged with blood. A smothered cry broke from the crowd at the doora fierce tumult ensued-and for a moment I do believe the supposed murderer of his own wife, might have walked away from the very midst of the recoiling crowd: but it was only for a moment; the next, they were ready to trample him into the earth-to tear him limb from limb, in their ungovernable rage. But they were arrested by the loud, commanding voice of the doctor, who having gone up to the body, The wretched man bowed low in reply; went up to his wife, and kissed her forehead, her mouth, and her eyes; and then, with a look of woe I never shall forget, gave his hand to his uncle, who turned away his head, to conceal a tear, I hope; and followed the officer out of the room, without uttering a word. "You have no further occasion for me," said I, shocked and terrified at the presumption of the rude old man; "I wish you a good night. If your nephew desires my aid, however, professionally or otherwise, I shall be ready, night or day, to speak a good word in his favor." “Very like, sir; but I have need of you, also; touch that bell for me again, if you please." sofa, and began chafing the arms of the pale, fair creature that lay there. I was thunderstruck. "Poor child, poor child; I hope you have not gone When Robert Everett Steele was a boy, he got fond of too far, sir." strong drink, no matter how-first, he loved to dip "Pooh, pooh! I know what I am about. She sugar into sweet wine, and eat the sugar; then he breathes, you see, and she has been breathing all the dipped into stronger, and yet stronger wine; after time, I daresay; so we have nothing to fear on that awhile, he tried brandy and water—then, a little more score; no stoppage, no stagnation, you perceive. But, brandy, and a little less sugar; 'till he drank, as you do then, look here," touching her mouth, and showing the now, a glass of brandy and water every day before dinsign that so terrified me, "she has either cut her lip ner. But, he was an extraordinary youth, as I have very much, or ruptured a blood-vessel." told you before. Something took place one day, after The good woman stopped, and looked up in his face he had been trying with the evil spirit of strong drink with a sort of terror. the sight of his own face, I believe, in a mirror—and he "There, there, don't be alarmed, child; take her started up, and shook off the encumbering chains and away, and put her to bed, and keep her still for twenty-serpents that weighed him to the earth, and walked four hours, and, with the blessing of God," taking off away free; and for nearly twenty years not a drop of his hat, and lifting the rim to his face, so that he could strong liquor ever passed his lip; he had forgotten the just look over it "we may have occasion to rejoice taste, and the smell was a horror and a loathing to him. over the sorrow of this day, the longest hour we have But still, I had my fears; and, on his marriage night, I to live. Young man, this way." told him before his bride, her mother, the preacher and all, that before ten years were ended and gone, he would be a lover of strong drink." I limped after him mechanically; cheered, I know not why, with the devout and benignant seriousness of manner that followed his brief prayer. He led me to a study, fitted up in very good style, though crowded to the ceiling with books that were covered with dust, and evidently out of their place and ill at ease. "Sit down, sir. These books, and the furniture below-I see your eyes are of some use to you; saw you looking about you-belonged a twelvemonth ago to Robert Steele, one of the proudest and best, and most gifted men of our country. That filthy tavern porch where I first met you, was the best furnished house in New England, a twelvemonth ago. You see what it is now. That woman you saw on the sofa, three years ago married Robert Steele, against the opinion of everybody-he was fifteen years the elder; don't interrupt me, sir; youthful as he may look to you, what I say is the truth: he and she both have grown, I dare not say how much older, within a twelvemonth. Why don't you ask me what has led to the change?" I was startled at the abruptness and strangeness of the question; but I contrived to say, "You will oblige me, sir, by telling me how it happened." "A curse on your cruel prophecy! How know you, man-man-how know you, but your words have been pursuing him from that day to this, haunting him with a perpetual fear? If so, you have much to answer for." "You mistake, sir. So long as Robert Steele, or you, or anybody else in your condition-you are angry with me, are you not?" "Yes." "Never mind. I shall finish what I have to say, nevertheless. So long as you are afraid for yourselves, you are safe. But the moment you have no fear, that moment you are lost. Would you believe that the final overthrow of all this young man's prospects in life, was wrought by his own mother-in-law ?" "Indeed!" "Yes, sir, by my own wife-and with a bottle of Noyeau and a bottle of old Jamaica!" "I do not understand you." "How should you? You have not heard half the story." "I thought he was your nephew?" "And yet you say, your own wife, his mother-in-law. Are you not his uncle?" "A sort of uncle. He was the son of my sister; but I am his father-in-law, too; he married my wife's daughter." "Oh-ah!" "You are satisfied, now, I hope?" "Please to hear my story then. About three months after their marriage, his mother-in-law-my wife-an I blushed and trembled at the rebuke of the old man's excellent woman she was too she is dead now-there eye. "So it was with Robert Steele. And now-look me in the face-prepare yourself—I know you, and I know your family; and I tell you now, as I told Robert Steele on the night of his marriage before ten years are over, you will be a drunkard." never was anybody, I dare say, with a heartier detestation of strong drink. She entered the chamber where he and his happy wife were sitting together, he reading to her, and she at her work, and setting a sealed bottle on the table before him, said, 'There's a marriage-gift for you; that créme de noyeaa is very old; it came out of the Dash privateer.' Some talk followed, and then | looking man, and a much younger man, a former suitor she added, that she had two or three bottles of old of his wife's, one that everybody said she ought to have Jamaica spirits, of a most extraordinary flavor, but as accepted, instead of Robert, who was almost double her he never tasted of anything of the sort, she supposed it age. But a twelvemonth ago was the fatal day. Then would be of no use to him.' 'Certainly not,' he re- for the first time for more than twenty years, he got plied; he would not have it in the house. It would drunk-absolutely drunk. It was partly treachery, be a treasure to them that knew the worth of spirits so partly joy, partly triumph: he was elected to a majorold—but for him, it was no better than so much aqua-ity instead of poor French (a cloud fiitted over his forefortis.' But a moment afterwards, something happened | head, as he spoke the name). Gradually, step by step, to be said about punch-punch is a very innocent liquor, as everybody knows—I dare say you began with punch yourself?" I bowed. "Or sweet cider ?" I bowed again. "Or Malaga wine?" "Precisely," said I. everybody does." he grew fond of it; neglected his books, profession, friends-wife, child, everything. I had hopes; but I gave them up, one after the other. At last, I persuaded his mother-in-law to decoy his wife away. We succeeded-we suffered the cottage to be stripped-his books and furniture to be scattered everywhere-we suffered him to be steeped to the very lips in poverty, "I began with all three, as and to believe his poor wife insane, as she actually was at one time when he saw her in a fever; in short, sir, "And so, sir, it was concluded to keep the Jamaica we have done everything, 'till to-day-and to-day, sir, for punch." you were a witness of the terrible catastrophe. Mad "Will you tell me, sir, whether the man is dead, be- with the triumph of his old adversary, elected major tofore you go any further," said I. "I have been long-day in his room-galled and fretted to death by the ing, yet afraid to ask you, every moment since you behavior of the mobreturned." "No, sir-he is not dead." "Was he dangerously hurt?" "Yes." "Did he strike first ?" "No matter, now. Hear what I have to say, and then, you shall know the exact state of the affair. "Let us make short work of it now. At the christening of Robert's child, his first child, a miniature pictare of his wife, he inade the punch, and tasted of it, nothing more. I don't believe he drank a wine-glass full. His wife reminded him of what I had said on the night of their marriage, and of what he had said on the night when he received the bottle of Jamaica: 'Mother, what if this should make a drunkard of me! What if this should lead to the fulfillment of uncle Joshua Farrer's prophecy,' he never called me father, nor father-in-law. Not long after this, he became a military man. He rose rapidly, and he took the more pleasure in it, because he prevailed over a much finer Who knocks ?" The door opened, and in walked poor French himself! He had a patch over his temple, and his right arm in a sling, "Are you crazy? How dare you leave your bed, sir?” cried the doctor, starting up in a tempest of rage. The mystery was soon explained. The new major had come to beg Robert Steele's pardon, and give up his majority. But, no; his father-in-law would not hear a word of it, 'till Robert had been worked upon for at least twenty-four hours. I could have wept for joy; I never was so happy in my life; and I wanted to go directly to the jail, and say in a whisper to the unhappy man: "Be comforted!" But the order was peremptory, as he shook his ivory-headed cane over me. Go, I should not. Write, I should not. "This trial," said he, "properly carried through, may save him. Nothing else can. I have no other hope. If we can terrify him into self-distrust for the future (looking hard at me), we are safe." He was right. Robert Steele is now a reformed man-a good husband-a good father-a good friend. Being afraid of himself now, he is safe. то WHENEVER Fancy wakes her fairy scene FANNIE. Her graceful footstep greener makes the green; ATTICUS. SOME of our readers will recollect noticing, at one of the exhibitions of the Art Union, several years ago, a marble bust of an infant child, inclosed in a glass case, and duly ticketed as the effort of a Mr. Palmer, of Albany. They will probably recollect that around this bust an admiring crowd was almost always gathered; that people wondered who Mr. Palmer was; and that the more bold predicted for the unknown sculptor a brilliant future and a splendid name. Those predictions have come to be realized. At this moment, Mr. Palmer stands before America in the front rank of her sculptors. The exquisite delicacy, the truthfulness and free nature, evinced in this bust (The Infant Ceres) brought appreciative friends to the side of Mr. Palmer; and his labors so encouraged, from that day to this he has steadily advanced in his grand art. Self-taught and selfreliant a carpenter by trade, drawn to the chisel by the simple and irresistible force of his genius; true to the pure instincts and impulses of his inspiration-we find him calmly and strongly advancing onward and upward-winning day by day, new admirers and new friends; gradually gaining the sympathies of the public; sending out year by year new and still more beautiful creations, that silently clove their way into the hearts of all who beheld them-until the widening circle of his greatness has expanded into the fullness of a noble fame. The collection of "Palmer Marbles," now on exhibition in this city, are securing for him that wide appreciation, which is life and everything to the artist. Thoroughly well as he has been long known to a few, this exhibition, with the liberal and generous criticism it has called forth, is giving his name to the winds; is realizing those old dreams that must have come upon him, in years gone by, over the carpenter's bench. Mr. Palmer's genius is American. He has never been to Italy. If going to Italy would make him, in the least, less original, fresh, or natural, may he never cross the sea! His speciality appears to lie in busts. In full length figures, Mr. Powers probably excels him; in busts, he is the finest of all the modern sculptors. His manipulation is not better than that of Powers; his imagination and creative faculty, are much superior. In his busts, he evinces the most exquisite and delicate fancy; a fineness of poetical feeling, that overcomes you like the "dying fall" of an exquisite strain of music. Over "Spring," idealized in the type of girlhood, we have hung for many minutes. Of all his works, it is our favorite. There is, perhaps, little to choose between it and "Resignation ;" beautiful in womanly graces, as the other in girlish ones: but upon every visit we find ourselves returning more frequently to "Spring," than to its companions. It is surrounded by that mystic charm which ever hangs about girlhood; and, if ever the sweetness, purity, truth, and simple love of blooming youth were caught and realized by art, Mr. Palmer has done it in this bust of "Spring." It is, perhaps, not without its faults. We like it better than the rest, praise it more, and for these reasons must be permitted to criticise it more. We do so, however, submittingly; for how can we help the consciousness that Mr. Palmer has bestowed vastly more study upon it than we have? And, where taste and art so perfect have been exhibited, we are almost inclined to impugn our own judgment, rather than question his. The principal fault of the face, appears to us, to be in the smallness of the eyes. We all like open-eyed youth; we feel intuitively its charm, and in large expansion seem to realize fullness, frankness, and nobility of soul. This fault in the bust, does not suggest itself at first. It is only apparent after you become familiar with its details; then, not obtrusively, not injuriously. Another defect is an excessive fleshiness in the upper part of the nose. The prominent forehead, so admirable in this bust, we observe is the cast of almost all Mr. Palmer's female heads. We cannot believe this to arise from a poverty of invention—yet it bears that construction. There is also a sameness in the lips, delicate, beautiful, and instinct with life and sweetness as they are. The bust of Erastus Corning, Esq., is an evidence of what he can accomplish in the sterner and more practical directions of his art. Of its faithfulness as a portrait, we cannot speak; of its firmness, precision, and artistic execution, we can. "Night," and "Morning," in bas-relief; "Sappho," in alto-relief, are respectively admirable performances. The statue of "The Indian Girl; or, the Dawn of Christianity," is the most ambitious piece of the collection, and, we fear, must be considered a failure. It is, as a critic has expressed it, "neither original nor aboriginal." It is an attempt "to represent the impression made upon an Indian girl by the sudden discovery of the crucifix, when wandering alone in the forest." The manipulation of this work cannot be excepted to. The figure is finely moulded--the drapery well managed the pose in every way excellent but the beholder feels the impossibility of elevating the Indian figure to the sculpturesque plane; the idealization destroys the fidelity; it ceases to be aboriginal, without becoming Circassian. We are desirous of seeing Mr. Palmer in another statue. We cannot believe that his genius is to stop short of this highest exposition of his art. The Palmer Marbles are on exhibition in the hall of the Church of the Divine Unity, 548 Broadway. -AT this writing, we are in the midst of the Christmas days. Hilarity and mirth clash their cymbals. Charity and good-will monarch hearts and pockets-alas! for so brief a rule! The streets are gay. The shops, in hemlock and cedar, are picturesque and pretty. The air is crisp and bright. People walk brisker, look brighter, have redder noses and ruddier cheeks than at prosier times. The cold does not nip and shrivel, but sets them all aglow. Every man carries a bundle—some are laden with them. People who ordinarily would look askance at a parcel bigger than a cambric needle, totter now under accumulations of packages, formidable in size and number. They are the Christmas gifts. Strange revolution-the world has grown more fond of giving than receiving. Stranger revolution still— people speculate upon ways and means to bestow happiness; rival each other in the desire to excite mirth and pleasure. The toy mongers chuckle at the inflowing silver. Urchins congregate around the confectioners, and devour up the sugar monsters with their eager gaze. Music pours from parlor windows; the home dance rattles the casements. Upon butchers' stalls, the fat beef, bedecked with ribbons and hemlock, looks good enough to eat raw. The book shops ravish with their gorgeous volumes. There is no school, and the streets ring with childhood's merry laugh. Broadway outdoes itself; more gaiety, animation, brilliancy; denser throngs, showier shops, gayer colors. Gala is the air, gala is the street, gala in every eye, upon every lip, in every voice! Beautiful episode in the year's cycle! Love weaves new links, affection strikes into deeper depths, the generous virtues expand-hatred and selfishness shrink howling off! Blessed be the day and the time! THE death of Mr. Angus B. Reach, in London, a gentleman of various literary attainments, has started upon the usual joke-round a story that was current of him a few years ago. But we find it in some quarters very differently stated from the way we recollect hearing it originally. It is well known that Mr. Reach insisted upon pronouncing his name as if spelt Re-ack. The new version of the story is, that Tom Hood, when seated near him at a public dinner, illustrated his fastidiousness by exclaiming : "Angus B. Re-ack, the various phases of passion, in marking delicate shades o character, and, which is rare, he is as felicitous in the genial breadth of humor, as in the sterner and grander delineations of passion. We recollect once hearing a distinguished poet remark that he had known a good many actors who could spell, a few who could cypher, but never but two that could read! If our actors had before them standards of delivery as perfect as the elocution of Professor Hows, this severe satire would soon become an injustice. Let us say, however, in behalf of the stage, that there is a movement in this matter in the right direction. Actors are discovering that talking can be made even more effective than ranting; and Hamlet's advice to the players is at last beginning to be practically followed. - The engraving of "Shakspeare and his Friends," from the painting by Mr. Faed, is at last completed, and ready for Now this is not the way we heard it. It wasn't Tom Hood at all, but Mr. Thackeray, who perpetrated the wicked satire. The occasion was a dinner, and Mr. Reach somewhat osten-subscribers. It is two years since the original painting was tatiously corrected Mr. Thackeray's pronunciation of his name. Mr. Thackeray apologised and promised to remember. A few moments afterwards he cried out in a loud tone, "Eh, Mr. Re-ack, eh-I will trouble you to pass me a pe-ack." The table was in a roar-and Mr. Reach, we believe, never forgave the satire. Which of these versions is the true one we say not; perhaps both are inventions. An amusing part of it is, that the Tom Hood version is prefaced with the comment that the anecdote, unlike very many anecdotes, is perfectly true. We will not deny it but a story which runs so wide in its different accounts, is exposed to the suspicion of being apocryphal. A VERY pleasant bit of romance has just fallen in the way of Bayard Taylor-so pleasant and so rare that we do our best to embalm it for perpetual record. The readers of Taylor's African volume will recollect frequent reference in its pages to a German travelling companion, who ascended the Nile with him. This German gentleman-a baron it seems -has presented Taylor with an estate adjoining his—grounds complete, and house furnished-requesting its acceptance as a gift, and as a token of the esteem which their brief companionship had inspired. This is a wonder, indeed-a bit of romance that has the true, old-fashioned ring; a gem, too, of lofty generosity and noble friendship, that becomes of universal interest and pride, because it exalts human na ture. – PROF. J. W. H. Hows, of Columbia college, has just completed a course of Shakspearean readings, which includ. ed King Lear, Hamlet, The Merchant of Venice, and two evenings devoted to miscellaneous selections. Professor Hows is the only acceptable Shakespearean reader among us—a man who has given a life-time to the study of a master he venerates, and an art he loves. Close analysis, fine taste, kindred sympathies, and a responsive genius have combined to render him an intellectual and perfect exponent of Shakspeare. His renditions are not merely correct they possess fire and vigor. He succeeds in grasping all exhibited in this city, and since that time the subscribers to the engraving have impatiently waited for its completion. We well recollect the enthusiasm which the painting excited in the breast of every lover of Shakspeare. The scene represents Shakspeare at the Mermaid, surrounded by his friends-by Bacon, Raleigh, Beaumont, Fletcher, Jonson, Dorset, and others—those whose wisdom and genius gave the "Augustan Age" to England's history. The figure of Shakspeare was exquisitely painted-and the engraver has admirably preserved the spirit, grace, and delicacy of the original. -WE clip the following, for the sake of pointing a moral: "A SENSATION.-Sallie Jones says, that when she was in love, she felt as if she was in a tunnel, with a train of cars coming both ways." There is more mirth in this effusion than the perpetrator dreamed of. That must have been an extraordinary train of cars that could come two ways at once! Mem: When you make a joke, look to your grammar. -A EUROPEAN correspondent of one of our dailies, states that Thackeray has a contract with a London publishinghouse, to furnish a work, of a stipulated length, for six thousand pounds. Mr. Thackeray went into a calculation, and discovered that this price was about three shillings (English) per line. Notwithstanding this enormous price, several months elapsed, after signing the contract before he overcame his constitutional laziness sufficiently to get to work. The writer states that it is a romance; and that the hero is to be killed off in America; which will afford Mr. Thackeray the opportunity he undoubtedly desires, to touch us up with his caustic pen. This is, probably, the same work that one of our publishing houses announces as in the press. -FAIRY folk are not responsible, we suppose, to the Decalogue; and, under any circumstances, orchard robbing is one of the winked-at offences. The moral, therefore of the following lines, need not be scrutinized too closely. |