Imatges de pÓgina

son is a "knight-player,”— he must have hour was, got together a number of their that piece given him. Another must have watches, for the purpose of comparing two pawns. Another, “pawn and two," them, as it would seem. Among them or one pawn and two moves.

Then we

was a repeater, belonging to our young find one who claims "pawn and move,” Marylander. He happened to wake up holding himself, with this fractional ad- while the somnambulist was in his chamvantage, a match for one who would be ber, and, not knowing his infirmity, caught pretty sure to beat him playing even.- hold of him and gave him a dreadful shakSo much are minds alike; and you and I ing, after which he tied his hands and think we are “ peculiar,”— that Nature feet, and then went to sleep till morning, broke her jelly-mould after shaping our when he introduced him to a gentleman cerebral convolutions ! So I reflected, used to taking care of such cases of somstanding and looking at the picture. nambulism.]

I say, Governor,- broke in the If you, my reader, will please to skip young man John, — them hosses 'll stay backward, over this parenthesis, you will jest as well, if you'll only set down. I've come to our conversation, which it has had 'em this year, and they haven't stirred. interrupted. – He spoke, and handed the chair to- It a’n't the feed, — said the young wards me, ---seating himself, at the same man John,- it's the old woman's looks time, on the end of the bed.

when a fellah lays it in too strong. The You have lived in this house some feed's well enough. After geese bave time? --I said, — with a note of inter- got tough, 'n' turkeys have got strong, ’n’ rogation at the end of the statement. lamb's got old, 'n' veal's pretty nigh beef,

Do I look as if I'd lost much flesh ?- ’n’ sparragrass's growin' tall ’n’slim ’n’ said he,-answering my question by an- scattery about the head, 'n' green peas other.

gettin' so big 'n' hard they'd be dangerous No,—said I;– for that matter, I think if you fired 'em out of a revolver, we get you do credit to “ the bountifully furnish- hold of all them delicacies of the season. ed table of the excellent lady who pro- But it's too much like feedin'on live folks vides so liberally for the company that and devourin' widdah's substance, to lay meets around her hospitable board." yourself out in the eatin' way, when a

[The sentence in quotation-marks was fellah's as hungry as the chap that said from one of those disinterested editorials a turkey was too much for one 'n' not in small type, which I suspect to have enough for two. I can't help lookin' at been furnished by a friend of the land- the old woman. Corned-beef-days she's lady's, and paid for as an advertisement. tolerable calm. Roastin’-days she worThis impartial testimony to the superi- ries some, 'n' keeps a sharp eye on the or qualities of the establishment and its chap that carves. But when there's anyhead attracted a number of applicants thing in the poultry line, it seems to hurt for admission, and a couple of new board- her feelin's so to see the knife goin' into ers made a brief appearance at the table. the breast and joints comin' to pieces, One of them was of the class of people that there's no comfort in eatin'. When who grumble if they don't get canvas- I cut up an old fowl and help the boardbacks and woodcocks every day, for ers, I always feel as if I ought to say, three-fifty per week. The other was Won't you have a slice of widdah ? subject to somnambulism, or walking in instead of chicken. the night, when he ought to have been The young man John fell into a train asleep in his bed. In this state he walk- of reflections which ended in his proed into several of the boarders' cham- ducing a Bologna sausage, a plate of bers, his eyes wide open, as is usual with “ crackers," as we Boston folks call cersomnambulists, and, from some odd in- tain biscuits, and the bottle of whiskey stinct or other, wishing to know what the described as being A. 1.

Under the influence of the crackers span of elephants,—and take an ostrich and sausage, he grew cordial and com- to board, too, -as to marry one of 'em. municative.

What's the use ? Clerks and counterIt was time, I thought, to sound him as jumpers a'n't anything. Sparragrass to those of our boarders who had excited and green peas a'n't for them,—not while my curiosity.

they're young and tender. HossbackWhat do you think of our young

Iris ? ridin' a'n't for them, — except once a -I began.

year, -on Fast-day. And marryin' a’n't Fust-rate little filly ;- he said.—Pooti- for them. Sometimes a fellah feels loneest and nicest little chap I've seen since ly, and would like to have a nice young the schoolma'am left. Schoolma'am was woman, to tell her how lonely he feels. a brown-haired one, - eyes coffee-color. And sometimes a fellah,—here the young This one has got wine-colored eyes, – man John looked very confidential, and, 'n' that's the reason they turn a fellah's perhaps, as if a little ashamed of his weakhead, I suppose.

ness,- sometimes a fellah would like to This is a splendid blonde, I said, - have one o' them small young ones to trot the other was a brunette. Which style on his knee and push about in a little do you like best?


- a kind of a little Johnny, you Which do I like best, boiled mutton know;- it's odd enough, but, it seems to or roast mutton ? — said the young man me, nobody can afford them little articles, John. Like 'em both,-it a’n't the color except the folks that are so rich they can of 'emn makes the goodness. I've been buy everything, and the folks that are so kind of lonely since schoolma'am went poor they don't want anything. It makes away. Used to like to look at her. I nice boys of us young fellahs, no doubt! never said anything particular to her, And it's pleasant to see fine young girls that I remember, but

sittin', like shopkeepers behind their I don't know whether it was the crack- goods, waitin', and waitin', and waitin', er and sausage, or that the


fel- 'n' no customers, and the men lingerin' low's feet were treading on the hot ashes round and lookin' at the goods, like folks of some longing that had not had time that want to be customers, but haven't to cool, but his eye glistened as he stop- got the money! ped.

Do you think the deformed gentleI suppose she wouldn't have looked at man means to make love to Iris? - I a fellah like me,- he said,—but I come said. pretty near tryin'. If she had said, Yes, What! Little Boston ask that girl to though, I shouldn't have known what to marry him! Well, now, that's comin' have done with her.

of it a little too strong. Yes, I guess she woman now-a-days till you're so deaf will marry him and carry him round in a you have to cock your head like a par- basket, like a lame bantam! Look here! rot to hear what she says, and so long- he said, mysteriously ; — one of the sighted you can't see what she looks like boarders swears there's a woman comes nearer than arm's-length.

to see him, and that he has heard her Here is another chance for you, - singin' and screechin'. I should like to I said.— What do you want nicer than know what he's about in that den of his. such a young lady as Iris ?

He lays low 'n' keeps dark,-and, I tell It's no use,- he answered.- I look at you, there's a good many of the boarders them girls and feel as the fellah did when would like to get into his chamber, but he missed catchin' the trout.—"To'od 'a' he don't seem to want 'em. Biddy could cost more butter to cook him ’n’ he's tell somethin' about what she's seen when worth,--says the fellah.—Takes a whole she's been to put his room to rights. She's piece o' goods to cover a girl up now-a- a Paddy 'n' a fool, but she knows enough days. I'd as lief undertake to keep a to keep her tongue still. All I know is,

Can't marry a


I saw her crossin' herself one day when of angels with immense eyes, traceries of she came out of that room. She looked flowers, rural sketches, and caricatures, pale enough, 'n' I heard her mutterin' among which I shall probably have the somethin' or other about the Blessed Vir- pleasure of seeing my own features figurgin. If it hadn't been for the double ing. Very likely. But I'll tell you what doors to that chamber of his, I'd have I think I shall find. If this child has had a squint inside before this; but, some- idealized the strange little bit of humanhow or other, it never seems to happen ity over which she seems to have spread that they're both open at once.

her wings like a brooding dove,-if, in What do you think he employs himself one of those wild vagaries that passionate about ?-said I.

natures are so liable to, she has fairly The young man John winked.

sprung upon him with her clasping naI waited patiently for the thought, of ture, as the sea-flowers fold about the which this wink was the blossom, to come first stray shell-fish that brushes their outto fruit in words.

spread tentacles, depend upon it, I shall I don't believe in witches,—said the find the marks of it in this drawing-book young man John.

of hers,- if I can ever get a look at it,Nor 1.

fairly, of course, for I would not play We were both silent for a few min- tricks to satisfy my curiosity. utes.

Then, if I can get into this little gen

tleman's room under any fair pretext, I -Did you ever sce the young girl's shall, no doubt, satisfy myself in five mindrawing-books, I said, presently. utes that he is just like other people, and

All but one,-he answered ;--she keeps that there is no particular mystery about a lock on that, and won't show it. Ma'am him. Allen, (the young rogue sticks to that The night after my visit to the young name, in speaking of the gentleman with man John, I made all these and many the diamond,) Ma'am Allen tried to peek more reflections. It was about two o'clock into it one day when she left it on the in the morning, - bright starlight, - So sideboard.“ If you please,” says she - light that I could make out the time on my 'n' took it from him, 'n' gave him a look alarm-clock,—when I woke up trembling that made him curl up like a caterpillar and very moist. It was the heavy, dragon a hot shovel. I only wished he hadn't, ging sound, as I had often heard it beand had jest given her a little saas, for fore, that waked me. Presently a winI've been takin' boxin'-lessons, 'n' I've dow was softly closed. I had just begun got a new way of counterin' I want to to get over the agitation with which we try on to somebody.

always awake from nightmare dreams, -The end of all this was, that I came when I heard the sound which seemed away from the young fellow's room, feel- to me as of a woman's voice, -- the clearing that there were two principal things est, purest soprano which one could well that I had to live for, for the next six conceive of. It was not loud, and I could weeks or six months, if it should take so not distinguish a word, if it was a womlong. These were, to get a sight of the an's voice ; but there were recurring young girl's drawing-book, which I sus- phrases of sound and snatches of rhythm pected had her heart shut up in it, and that reached me, which suggested the to get a look into the little gentleman's idea of complaint, and sometimes, I room.

thought, of passionate grief and despair. I don't doubt you think it rather ab- It died away at last, — and then I heard surd that I should trouble myself about the opening of a door, followed by a low, these matters. You tell me, with some monotonous sound, as of one talking, show of reason, that all I shall find in the and then the closing of a door, -- and young girl's book will be some outlines presently the light on the opposite wall disappeared and all was still for the And Heaven's eternal wisdom spent night.

In making straight the ancient ways. By George! this gets interesting,-I

“The living fountain overflows said, as I got out of bed for a change

For every flock, for every lamb, of night-clothes.

Nor heeds, though angry creeds oppose

With Luther's dike or Calvin's dam." I had this in my pocket the other day, but thought I wouldn't read it. So I He spake; with lingering, long embrace, read it to the boarders instead, and print With tears of love and partings fond, it to finish off this record with.

They floated down the creeping Maas,

Along the isle of Ysselmond.

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We Americans, amidst the confusion the Andes," hy Mr. Frederick E. Church, and stir of material interests, are not in- we speak. This artist, now known for attentive to the progress of those claims some years as he who has with most darwhose growth is as silent as that of the ing tracked to its depths the witchery and leaves around us, and whose values find wonder of our summer skies, and the reno echo in Wall Street.

sults of whose two visits to South AmerWith the spring there has bloomed in ica have ere this shown how sensitive and New York a flower of no common beauty. sure the photograph of his memory is, All the fashion and influence there have gives us from the trop-plein of his souvenirs been to hail this growth of our soil at its this last and crowning page. cloistered home in Tenth Street. There We hold the merit and charm of Mr. is but one opinion of the beauty and nov- Church's works to be, that they are so elty of the stranger. It is of the “ Heart of American in feeling and treatment. What

chiefly distinguishes America from Eu- fluence of the world, effect, in the ordinary rope, as the object of landscape, is, that sense, ceases to be of value. We need the Europe is the region of "bits," of pictu- thing, and no human ennobling of it. In resque compositions, of sun-flecked lanes, this picture we have it; no spectral cloudof nestling villages, and castle-crowned pile, but a real Chimborazo, with the hoar steeps,—while with us everything is less of eternity upon its scalp, looks down upcondensed, on a wider scale, and with on the happy New-Yorker in his first May vaster spaces.

perspiration. And as the wind sets east, Mr. Church has the eagle eye to meas- no yellow hint at something warming, but ure this vastness. He loves a wide ex- whole dales and plains still in the real panse, a boundless horizon. He does not, sunshine, take the chill from off his heart. gypsy-like, hide with Gainsborough be- No wonder he, his wife, and his quietly neath a hedge, but his glance sweeps enthusiastic girls throng and sit there. across a continent, and no detail escapes They are proud in their hearts of the him. This is what makes the "Andes" handsome young painter. And well they a really marvellous picture. In intellec- may be ! Never has the New World sent tual grasp, clear and vivid apprehension so native a flavor to the Old. Unlike so of what he wants and where to put it, we many others of our good artists, there is no think Mr. Church without an equal. Quite saturation from the past in Mr. Church. a characteristic of his is a love of detail No souvenir of what once was warm and and finish without injury to breadth and new in the heart of Claude or Poussin ages general effect. You look into his picture the fresh work. It has a relish of our soil; with an opera-glass as you would into the its almost Yankee knowingness, its placid, next field from an open window. His clear, intellectual power, with its delicate power is not so much one of suggestion, sentiment and strong self-reliance, are ours; an appeal to the beauty and grandeur in we delightfully feel that it belongs to us, yourself, as the ability to become a color- and that we are of it. less medium to beauty and grandeur from Such is the last great work of the without ; hence the impression is at first New York school of landscape,- a living hand, and such as Nature herself pro- school, and destined to long triumphs,duces.

already appreciated and nobly encouraged. The world abounds in pictures where Its members are men as individual and loving human faculty has lifted ordinary various in their gifts, as they are har. motives into our sympathy; but where monious and manly in their mutual recthe subject is the grandest landscape af- ognition and fellowship.


Love Me Little, Love Me Long. By Charles ty of construction, and also by their fresh

READE, Author of “ It is Never too Lateness of sentiment,-comet-books, pursuing to Mend," “ White Lies," etc. New one another in erratic orbits of thought, York: Harper & Brothers. 1859. now close upon the central light of Truth,

now distantly remote from it, but always Tus is the last, and in many respects brilliant, and generally leaving a spark. the best, of Mr. Charles Reade's literary ling train of recollection behind. The achievements. Its popularity, we are in author's subsequent productions, until the formed, exceeds that of any of his former present, have been less successful; some works, excepting the first two published by reason of their positive inferiority; by him, “ Peg Woffington," and " Christie some because of their extraordinary affecJohnstone,” which a few years ago star- tations of expression, repelling the multitled the novel-reading world by their ec- tude, who do not choose to risk their centricity of style, their ingenious novel- brains through unlimited pages of labyVOL. IV.


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