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A wanderer from the far Atlantic shore,
Becomes a dweller by the classic side
of Arno,-threads the pictur'd galleries,
And sculptur'd halls and storied palaces
Of queenly Florence ;-muses, studies long ;
Converses closely with the mighty Past;
Marks Nature's loveliest developments,
Learns how her muscles play, and pulses beat;-
Discourses thus with all that is sublime,
And lofty and ennobling, till his mind
Filled to o'erflowing can receive no more.

in my way one who knew her. He was about to pass through the city where she dwelt, and I, inventing some long story as an excuse to satisfy bis friendly curiosity, commissioned him to call upon her.

He was instructed to paint me as remembering her tenderly: not as though this secret had been entrusted to him, but as the discovery of his observant eye.

When he returned he told me that he had called upon her. Three years had ripened her beauty, and added another link to the chain which bound her to old associations. She was living in great luxury and splendor, and seemed, my informant told me, to be as happy as she could be with a reasonable contempt for her weak lord and master. He spoke incidentally of me, and she inquired kindly after me. She hoped I had married or was about to, and that I would marry well. She said she reccollected me as rather romantic, but supposed that I had recovered from that youthful fancy. In fine, she desired to be kindly remembered to me, and hoped that I would some day pay her a visit.

I was quite wounded when I heard of this unexpected tranquillity. To tell the honest truth, the certainty of her peace of mind being entirely free from all danger on my account made me very indignant. I never was more in love with her than I was when I found out she was living quite happily. Consigning the whole sex to an evil name for frivolity and heartlessness, I made myself agreeable to the very next woman I encountered.

He seeks expression for his thronging thoughts,
And writes them out in marble. Day by day,
Beneath his plastic touch, the stone receives
Intenser life; the spirit breathes within ;
His dreams have found their richest utterance;
And Proserpine,-impersonation bright,
Of art and beauty, dwells on earth again!

By starry night and in the broad, clear day,
'Mid crowded streets, and thro' his lonely hours,
She still has followed, sweet and shadow-like,
A breathing presence near him. Were it strange,-
Since he hath watched those lineaments so long,
If to his eye the human countenance
Should lose its remnant of divinity ?
That half-averted face-how passing fair!
The smile that lingers round the curving mouth
With mournful meaning filled; the pensive brow
So beautifully calm and passionless ;
The rounded cheek that seems as it would yield
Beneath a finger's weight; the wavy hair
About the imperial head; and more than all,
The chasten'd woman's look of tenderness,
That pleads in every line, and longs to break
The trembling silence of those breathing lips !
-What marvel if this varied loveliness,
Should captive lead the sculptor's heart for years!

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Hail, western world ! our own fair Attica!
Already is thy brow with honors crowned,
And yet they thicken round thee. Thou hast sons,
Who have thy glory at their inmost heart,
And who in every path of light are found,
Competing with the foremost :--not to win
Distinctions high wherewith to clothe themselves ;
But for a nobler purpose :-to compel
From half-reluctant lips the hard-earned praise,
And only feel it precious when 'tis laid,
With true devotion, at their country's feet.

Ascend, successful master! farther still,
The path that lies before thee: lake the torch,
Than Ceres' brighter, which thy genius lights
At its own Etna-fire, to guide thee on,
And go, a spirit-traveller o'er the world,
In tireless search of faultless excellence.
Outstrip the Grecian in his wondrous fame,-
Shake in the grasp of Angelo the palm,-
Receive the chisel from Canova's band,
And catch Thorwalsden's mantle as it falls ;-
Then to complete thy triumph, turn from all
The grand magnificence of earthly art,-
Consessing that its most transcendent skill
Is less than nothing laid beside His power,
Who fashioned with a word a persect man,
And breathed into the clay a living soul!

Lexington, Va.

BY P. P.

Mike a leaf of Ariosto misplaced into Young's THE CRIME OF ANDREW BLAIR. Night Thoughts. Andrew Blair sat by an open

window, which, facing the south, caught oblique

ly a gentle south-west wind. The rays of the COOKE.

sun, coming also obliquely from the morning CHAPTER IV.

quarter, began to touch him. A pair of blue

birds interchanged merry speeches, in a lilac The Greeks believed that their Achaian tem- clump, the buds of which were bursting. About ple, dedicated to the “dread Eumenides,” could a dwarfed cedar, misshapen and crouching, and try, by some influence of its cold walls or som- looking like a Caliban among the straight brothbre airs, the purity of those who entered it. If erhood of lindens and beeches, some jays were a man entered it with a crime lying secret at his engaged in a battle. The din was prodigious, heart

, he betrayed himself by bodily tremors and and occasionally a pinch of feathers was whisked the loss of reason. The house of John Herries, away, and scattered on the air. The jay is irriwith its murder-pictures, and its thronging remi- table and punctilious, and prefers war to peace, niscences of a former master, had been such a in any weather. Far away, down the slopes of temple of the Furies to Andrew Blair.

the great hill, cattle browsed, or economised the He continued for many days in a state of men- unseasonable sunshine in motionless attitudes. tal imbecility and bodily prostration. During At times, the shadow of a soaring hawk fell this time Herries hung about the sick man, with upon the grass, still green, below the open wina misery and dread in his looks which excited dow, and silenced for a moment the pugnacious the remark of all who saw him. When, at last, jays, leaving the blue-birds--those little winged he learned, watching in a room adjoining the violets which peep from under the fringes of winchamber in whieh Andrew Blair lay, that the ter, and are safe in their humility—to prate away unhappy man had awaked from a long sleep bet- as if not a care hovered in the skies above them. ter in body, and with a restored intelligence, he Refreshed by the scene-enjoying the southplaced a hand upon his brows, and drew a breath wind-cheered by the sunshine-Andrew Blair so long and so loud, that one might have fancied had not for a long time escaped so far from unhe had been fished up from a lake of brimstone happiness. But suddenly the jays retreated from just at the last gasp. And indeed the catching the cedar; the blue-birds passed twittering round at hope, of which that hard-drawn inspiration a corner of the house; the calm currents beginwas the outward sign, was the catching at life. ning to keep even tone at the old man's ruined When he spoke it was but to say—“now we heart became again troubled. The arrival of will do well again."

John Herries made the change. " Yes," replied Dr. Gaunt, the physician in at- Herries, entering, greeted his host with politetendance, an old gentleman of much simplicity, ness, and apparently with kindness. He conwho saw a great deal of sweet affection and sym- gratulated him, pressing his hand at the same pathy in the emotion of Herries—"yes; he will time, upon appearances of improved health. Afdo well now. These attacks are peculiar. In- ter a time he approached the point, and said: deed I may say that my patient is already fully "I have come, sir, to renew a business which himself again."

your unfortunate illness interrupted." And, in confirmation of Dr. Gaunt's decisive Andrew Blair waved his hands and became opinion, Andrew Blair immediately prepared to troubled in countenance. return to his own house. Persuasion against his “I think we understand each other,” contindoing so too suddenly only threw him into ner- ued Herries ; " and I shall touch the subject now vous agitation, and Herries willingly saw him without cutting to the quick. I content myself depart. The old man went away in his car- with repeating that my son is a suitor for the riage, with Minny at his side. Erect, pale, with hand of your niece. I presume that you will feeble hands clutching for a support, and the res- use your influence in his behalf ?" olution of his features making all the sadder their Herries paused upon this last sentence, which, strange expression of distress, the uncle deeply worded so as to express a fact taken for granted, moved the heart of the niece on this melancholy was yet sounded as a question. return to Lindores. Minny had learned a pro- “ This is a sad proposition,” said Andrew Blair found lesson of devotion.

feebly. As soon as he could safely do so, Herries went “ How a sad proposition ?"

Herries became to Lindores to arrange his important affairs. He sinister in his looks. “ You think it a degradachose for his visit one of those miraculous morn- tion to mingle the common blood of my family ings, of glorious sunshine and cheering airs, which with the pure blood of your own. Such is your we sometimes find in the budget of December--thought; is it not ?"

bent upon

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"I have no thought. I am incapable of thought, stand me when I say the danger of your position ; my good Herries,” Blair replied. “Give me and truly these are not empty words. Your disrest, Herries-give me rest."

grace—your destruction will be the result of “ Willingly would I do so,” said Herries, with your {failure ; for I shall be desperate, and will a show of feeling too natural for hypocrisy ; speak. I temper my words to your weakness. “ but rest to you will be fatal to me.”

You take their meaning fully, however. Now “I do not understand you, Herries. Why are decide : will you or will you not urge the girl to you

this marriage? How can it ef- this marriage ?". fect you so deeply ?

The lips of Andrew Blair moved, but no lanHerries drew his chair close to his listener. guage came from them. Presently he succeed“ Hear me,” said he, “and do not be unmanned ed, with a feeble struggle of his thin hands, in by a fear that I shall tear open old wounds. I opening a case attached to his chair. He took have a great object in view. I attain it by this from it a small bottle, and a wine-glass. He marriage. It is unnecessary to enter into de- drank, with tremulous haste, a black looking tails. We must bring about this marriage." draught.

“ Then bring it about, Herries. I am shaken Send Minny to me,” he said, “and wait beby ase and cares, and can aid very little in low until I can give you an answer." these struggles."

Herries, with a quick step, left the room. In “Why should there be struggles ?"

a few moments Miss Blair entered it. Surely you cannot believe,” said Andrew “ You have sent for me, uncle," said Minny, Blair, " that poor Minny will become willingly as she drew a chair to the old man's side. the wife of your son ?"

“ Yes, my child; but give me a little time to "Why should I not believe so ?” Herries re- collect my poor old intellects." plied, with bended brows. “ You make a mis- “How pleasant the wind is, uncle." take. You have seen the surface of this wild boy • Yes-yes-pleasant." of mine. Perhaps it is ridiculous. But I tell you “ This balmy weather brings up the violets ; that we-you, sir, and I-have nothing so good here is a bunch of them. You see how I have or so great in us as this apparent simpleton pos- tied them up with berries of the strawberry tree. sesses under his absurd appearances."

It makes something quite pretty. The little blue “ He may be worthy enough—and yet, Her- flowers are relieved by the scarlet wax of the ries, he scarcely seems to be a match for my berries." niece."

“My child," said the old man-beginning to " Here is again your prejudice of blood,” said assume an energetic expression, which perhaps Herries. “Blood—blood—when it flows under his recourse to the bottle with the dark-coloured the lancet we see no difference between the cur- liquid had something to do in producing—“ my rents of the high and of the low; when it spirts child, what we shall have to say may prove a out under the knife, and boils into the ground, it bitter sequel to this pretty nonsense of yours." cries with the same voice to God, whether the I listen, sir." arteries from which it springs belong to a gentle- " To come to the point then. Mr. John Herman or to the poorest devil that ever dug for his ries has this morning proposed for your hand in bread.”

the name of his son." “You are killing me," moaned Andrew Blair.

Minny stared. Herries paused. “I forget my resolution," he · Is it so ?" muttered, and held his peace for some minutes. “ Even so,” said Andrew Blair. The sunshine, the light wind, the glitter of the Minny threw her head back and laughed. It grassy slopes, restored the old man; as certain was a vibrating, metallic laugh, that. The ceilings remedies restore the patient who sinks under the pealed it back as though her white pulsing throat knife of the surgeon. “We must deal gently," had been like that of Arcite, which Dryden tells said Herries, and then in a louder tone spoke on : us was “a trumpet with a silver sound.” She

• My friend there is a secret between us. Be presently controlled her merriment and said: firm, I beg of you ; let us forever drown the re- “ And what answer did you make to this procollection of it. Let us bury it in a community posal which flatters me excessively." of interests—in a fatherly affection centering on The old man seemed to be pained by the levity the same objects. My son once the husband of of his niece. It was with a manner of nervous your niece, we will stand together, united, with irritation that he said : no room for doubts, suspicions, betrayals, be- “ Be graver. If you reject the young gentle

Urge your neice—even give her a man, do it with a decent composure. Regard glimpse of the danger of your position, if you his feelings." fail to move her by other means. You under- “Ah, sir," Minny answered, no longer laugh

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tween us.

ing,—" he will find me grave and gentle when, I lost the great game of life in the temptations of face to face, I deny him. Do I wound human one awful hour. I committed a terrible crime. hearts wantonly? But you rebuke me for a There was a witness to it. I am the slave of slight fault as if there was more in this thing than that witness.” you discover to me.” As she spoke her glances The girl stood speechless. As she stared, the became quick and apprehensive.

eyes of her uncle seemed to protrude from their The old man answered:

sockets, his hair to rise with electric life, and “There is indeed a stern necessity that you moisture gathered upon his forehead and upper should give to this proposal a serious considera- lip in distinct drops. tion; indeed that you should school your inclina- " The vision is coming,” the old man murtions, and give even a favorable answer.” mured. But the pale and nervous girl cast her

- Uncle-uncle !" cried Minny Blair, with eyes arms about his neck, drew his cheek to her warm round with their wonder, and her mouth con- maiden bosom and said: tracted to a ruby ring ; “Do you say that I must " Then there is a terrible truth, uncle. It is become the wife of silly Tom Herries? You remorse, and not merely a disordered imaginaare in one of your dreams.”

tion that has shaken you for years. Poor unThe uncle shook his head. Presently he re- cle! Do you think that your Minny could love plied : “Minny, this young person is quite res- you less? You have fed me-loved me-saved pectable,-honest and kind-hearted, I think,-me from the world that has but a cold heart for and not ill-looking. His property will be consid- poor little parentless children. I have grown up erable—and although I shall make your own con- to be of some importance. How proud I am! siderable enough to render this argument of no Uncle I am to save you. Worse than this absurd great force, perhaps you will attach some im- marriage would be possible to my love for you. portance to it.

I do not say “I consent—that would be rash. It ** None whatever, uncle. Hear me sir. You may be avoided with safety to you. We must seem to be serious. I hardly understand that see. Man yourself. There is nothing to frighten you can be so. But I must be so. I am then us. We are here in the blessed sunshine. These with a solemn face to answer yes or no to this are Minny's arms that you feel on your neck.” singular proposal. Well I answer no-a thou- “Our hearts must break”—said the old man band times no."

in tones infinitely mournful--for his spiritual terThere was spirit enough in this answer to rors had subsided into mere grief. “Our hearts rouse the old man to a peevish and direct as- must break. How often high natures come to sault.

despair! Ah, we are creatures of fire when we "My dear,” he said, “our preface has been are young; it is quicksilver that courses in our long enough. You must marry this Tom Her- veins then. We are proud and swift, and do ries."

many unwise things. Well, we cure the unwise The girl rose in strange amazement-paused a deeds with after wisdom. In our youth too we moment—then putting the palm of a soft hand break dear ties, estrange those that love us; for on each of her uncle's sallow cheeks, brought her we are self-sufficient, and say we are strong, able, lips near to his, and replied :

chosen lords of the world, made in God's image; "No-inexorably no."

and the fires which we kindle within us for selfAnd she kissed his lips many times to pre- worship, we think should dazzle our fellows also vent his answer.

Perhaps she imagined that and bring them to bow down. Even of this age dull, ill-omened, denying monosyllable—a wave tames us. Time sweeps the nature bare of its of the Dead Sea to draggle and drown poor Cu- vain glory. We heal the wounded self-love of pid at any time-made an end of the matter. Others; we reunite the broken ties; we win back But the answer, delayed by her gentle arts, came the lost friendship. Our errors break under us at last.

and are trampled into dust as we pass on. The ** Then, my child, you to whom I have looked road of life may glitter darkly with them under for happiness in this miserable world will betray the onward feet-and yet the bright goal may me to ruin, disgrace, perhaps death."

be won.

But crime-crime--ah! that is faYou are dreaming uncle !"

tal. When in our swift pride we strike--when “ Dreaming ? not so. This decision of yours we shed the blood of man upon the betraying will surely destroy me."

ground—then is there no cure-no cure. We “Explain sir-make your meaning clear to pass then, living, the inexorable gates, with the

fiery blazon “hope passes not here. We are "No-there can be no explanation. But I given over to the fire that is not quenched, and speak the truth.” He presently added "know the worm that never dieth.” this much: years—many miserable years ago- “ Uncle,” said Minny, when these wild lauda

me."

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num-kindled sentences had blazed to an end, Presently the elder Herries was summoned. “there is always hope. Our Saviour died that My niece assents to the proposal with which he might win that touching title. Let us pray to she has been honored,” said Andrew Blair with him."

a slight haughtiness in his manner. The old man bowed his head; he did not an- “I willingly consent to become the wife of swer the invitation to prayer. He presently your son,” Minny added. spoke on:

Herries answered these supremely pleasant “I am a poor old man-worn, weary and deso- words with mute action. Pressing Minny's white late. I have been sinful. Have I not been pun- hand, he bowed very low. ished enough-punished enough? And yet around The scene was at an end. my closing years, in accumulation upon these The stately girl, with head a little drooped, dreadful sufferings, are crowding real dangers. and a step as noiseless as the fall of snow on Child, did you never discover that I was a-cow- a winter lake, passed to the door, and disapard. Yes-men-the very brutes—have always peared. quelled me. I have been subtle, never bold. Minny, if the true temper of a courageous nature which I have seen flash out from your girl's face

CHAPTER V. had been mine I would have been to-day on the “Wife, wife," said John Herries, have summits of man's ambition, renowned, able, and triumphed, and now life really begins to us. I iron-braced. I did not possess it. I quailed-feel like a Cæsar fresh from a Pharsalia. That took life like a crouching beast that springs on a magnificent swindler you know, Mrs. Herries, sure prey—and have grown old, remorseful and extricated himself very honorably from his debts trembling. I quake now with real fears. For- by that success. Now I may say that the past give me, brave little child, I am a coward." is purified, and our future secured." Minny Blair answered :

“ We should thank God, and not be too preUncle, I grope in the dark. I will not ask sumptuous in our anticipations,” answered the you to enlighten me. I catch, perhaps, a true wife. guidance from the wild gleams which you have “ There it is,” said Herries. " You and I thrown on my path. I fear to have more light. never seem to hope together. Put your hand We speak no more of your deeds, or of the in- into the bend of my arm. Now look up. Don't explicable power which another seems to possess we look very much like a candlestick and its erover you, and over my poor self. Just now I tinguisher. Madam, you are my extinguisher. told you that I should postpone my consent to But to-day my blaze is too strong for you. Dropthe proposed marriage until I discovered that it ping figures, Mrs. Herries, you are a conceited could not be avoided. Your manner and words little person; you imagine yourself to be temdrive me on. Perhaps I err; but for life or death, perate, calm, and very wise. The truth is you happiness or misery, I choose my lot promptly. I are only not ardent, your frigidity has sometimes I consent to the marriage which, a little while seen dull results which, in my sanguine temper ago, I abhorred. Truly I am changed; I no I would not see; the consequence is you fancy longer abhor it.”

your frigidity to be infallibility. You are conIlope struggled with surprise in the weak vis- ceited---more, you are wrong. Even if you were age of the old man.

infallible it would be one of those cursed gifts “Say you so, my dear child? But you will which make life barren. What the deuce would again abhor it, when you fall from your higher life be without its delusions ? Are you happy feelings, and then you will renounce this de- now, looking into the future as you do—like a cision."

little plain statue, cut out of cold gray marble, * Uncle, I have come to a resolution, I will re- looking out over a waste tract, with two fixed main constant in it. Send for this gentleman frigid eyes? Madam, you take a great deal of who comes to us as a messenger. I will pres- trouble to make yourself disagreeable to me." ently answer him."

“I have no enthusiasm, my dear husband. The old man drew his niece to his bosom; no But am I really disagreeable to you? I thought, female emotion disturbed her; a smile more like if this grand match was made, we were to go the quivering gleam of blue steel, than any more down the hill of life happily together. I think cheerful radiance fitted over her cheerful face. you said that." She kissed him with hard lips, so strictly were "If we have a partnership in happiness, you they compressed, and said :

must contribute to the common fund. And yet “Who knows, uncle, but we may be a very after all, wife, I think I have enough for both. happy couple. A good heart does much to make You are a good kind creature. God bless you a home happy."

with your demure airs. I feel like a lad of

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