Imatges de pÓgina


red, as we know by the illuminated books Grey (as if to himself and Tomes]. of the Middle Ages. Had she lived in

“ Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd, Venice, that great school of color, two Lady, it is to be presum'd, or three hundred years ago, in the days Though Art's luid causes are not found, of Titian and Giorgione, its greatest

All is not sweet, all is not sound." masters, she would probably have sat Mrs. Grey. What is that you are havupon a balcony with her locks drawn ing to yourselves, there? through a crownless broad-brimmed hat, Grey. Only a verse or two à-propos and covered with dye, to remove some from rare Ben. of their rich chestnut hue, and substitute Mrs. Grey. What do poets know about a reddish tinge ;-just as this lady is rep- dress, even when they are poetesses ? resented as doing in this Venetian book Look at your friend, the authoress of the of costumes of that date.

* Willow Wreath." What a spook that Key. Oh that two little nephews of

woman is!

Where does she get those mine, that the boys call Carroty Bill dresses ? I've often wondered and Brickdust Ben, were here! How these comfortable words would edily Here the glass door opened, and a them!

neat, fresh-looking maid-servant said, Grey. I'm afraid not, if they under- “Please, Ma’am, dinner is served.” stood me, or the poets, who, as well as Grey. Dinner! Have we been talking the painters, are with me. Horace's here two mortal hours? You'll all stop, Pyrrha had red hair, —

of course: don't think of declining. Nelly

blushes, yonder, doubtful, on “ hospitable “ Cui flavam religas comam

thoughts intent.” I don't believe “ Simplex munditiis?"

general mother,” though she had Eden which, if Tomes will not be severely for her larder, heard Adam announce critical, I will translate,

the Archangel's unexpected visit about

dinner-time without a momentary qualm “For whom bind'st back thy amber hair In neat simplicity ? "

as to whether the peaches would go round

twice. There'll be enough for Miss LarchMrs. Grey. The poets are always rav- es and you, Nelly; and we gentlemen ing about neat simplicity, or something will beam smiles upon you as we mince else that is not the fashion. I suppose

our modest share.

Let us go in. Mr. they sustain you in your condemnation Key, will you commit yourself to Mrs. of perfumes, too.

Grey ? Miss Larches, will you lay aside Tomes. There I'm with Grey,—and your bonnet ? Oh, it's off already! One the poets, too, I think.

can't see, unless one stands behind you; Mrs. Grey. What say you, Mr. Key ? and I prefer the front view. Pray, take

Tomes. At least, Grey, (turning to my arm. And, Tomes, keep at a respecthim,] Plautus says, “ Mulier recte olet ful distance in the rear, for the safety of ubi nihil olet,” which you may translate Miss Larches's skirts, or she will be for for the ladies, if you choose. I always excluding you, if we should have a talk distrust a woman steeped in perfumes about another phase of Daily Beauty, or upon the very point as to which she stay away herself; and neither of you seeks to impress me favorably.

could be spared.



HERE, in this vacant cell of mine,
I picture and paint my Apennine.

In spite of walls and gyvéd wrist,
I gather my gold and amethyst.

The muffled footsteps' ebb and swell,
Immutable tramp of sentinel,

The clenchéd lip, the gaze of doom,
The hollow-resounding dungeon-gloom,

All fade and cease, as, mass and line,
I shadow the sweep of Apennine,

And from my olive palette take
The marvellous pigments, flake by flake.

With azure, pearl, and silver white,
The purple of bloom and malachite,

Ceiling, wall, and iron door,
When the grim guard goes, I picture o'er.

E'en where his shadow falls athwart
The sunlight of noon, I've a glory wrought,

Have shaped the gloom and golden shine
To image my glearning Apennine.

No cruel Alpine heights are there,
Dividing the depths of pallid air;

But sea-blue liftings, far and fine,
With driftings of pearl and coralline;

And domes of marble, every one
All ambered o'er by setting sun ;-

Yes, marble realms, that, clear and high,
So float in the purple-azure sky,

We all have deemed them, o'er and o'er,
Miraculous isles of madrepore ;

Nor marvel made that hither floods
Bore wonderful forms of hero-gods.

Oh, can you see, as spirit sees,
Yon silvery sheen of olive-trees ?

To me a sound of murmuring doves
Comes wandering up from olive-groves,

And lingers near me, while I dwell
On yonder fair field of asphodel,

Half-lost in sultry songs of bees,
As, touching my chaliced anemones,

I prank their leaves with dusty sheen
To show where the golden bees have been.

On granite wall I paint the June
With emerald grape and wild festoon,–

Its chestnut-trees with open palms
Beseeching the sun for daily alms, –

In sloping valley, veiled with vines,
A violet path beneath the pines, –

The way one goes to find old Rome,
Its far away sign a purple dome.

But not for me the glittering shrine:
I worship my God in the Apennine !

To all save those of artist eyes,
The listeners to silent symphonies,

Only a cottage small is mine,
With poppied pasture, sombre pine.

But they hear anthems, prayer, and bell, And sometimes they hear an organ swell;

They see what seems — so saintly fair
Madonna herself a-wandering there,

Bearing baby so divine
They speak of the Child in Palestine !

Yet I, who threw my palette down
To fight on the walls of yonder town,

Know them for wife and baby mine,
As, weeping, I trace them, line by line,
In far-off glen of Apennine !





ing light, when meadow-lark and robin

and bobolink are singing in chorus with a A GUEST AT THE COTTAGE.

thousand insects and the waving of a thouNothing is more striking, in the light sand breezes, is on the whole the most in and shadow of the human drama, than to accordance with the average wants of compare the inner life and thoughts of those who have a material life to live and elevated and silent natures with the material work to do. But then we reverthoughts and plans which those by whom ence that clear-obscure of midnight, when they are surrounded have of and for them. everything is still and dewy ; -- then sing Little thought Mary of any of the specu- the nightingales, which cannot be heard lations that busied the friendly head of by day; then shine the mysterious stars. Miss Prissy, or that lay in the provident So when all earthly voices are hushed in forecastings of her prudent mother. When the soul, all earthly lights darkened, mua life into which all our life-nerves have sic and color float in from a higher sphere. run is cut suddenly away, there follows, No veiled nun, with her shrouded foreafter the first long bleeding is stanched, head and downcast eyes, ever moved an internal paralysis of certain portions about a convent with a spirit more utof our nature. It was so with Mary: the terly divided from the world than Mary thousand fibres that bind youth and wom- moved about her daily employments. anhood to earthly love and life were all Her care about the details of life seemin her as still as the grave, and only the ed more than ever minute; she was alspiritual and divine part of her being was ways anticipating her mother in every active. Her hopes, desires, and aspira- direction, and striving by a thousand tions were all such as she could have

gentle preveniences to save her from had in greater perfection as a disembod- fatigue and care; there was even a tenied spirit than as a mortal woman. The derness about her ministrations, as if the small stake for self which she had in- daughter had changed feelings and places vested in life was gone, - and hence- with the mother. forward all personal matters were to her The Doctor, too, felt a change in her so indifferent that she scarce was con- manner towards him, which, always conscious of a wish in relation to her own siderate and kind, was now invested with individual happiness. Through the sud- a tender thoughtfulness and anxious soden crush of a great affliction, she was in licitude to serve which often brought that state of self-abnegation to which the tears to his eyes. All the neighbors who mystics brought themselves by fastings had been in the habit of visiting at the and self-imposed penances, a state not house received from her, almost daily, purely healthy, nor realizing the divine in one little form or another, some proof ideal of a perfect human being made of her thoughtful remembrance. to exist in the relations of human life, She seemed in particular to attach but one of those exceptional conditions, herself to Mrs. Marvyn,- throwing her which, like the hours that often precede care around that fragile and wounded dissolution, seem to impart to the subject of nature, as a generous vine will somethem a peculiar aptitude for delicate and times embrace with tender leaves and refined spiritual impressions. We could flowers a dying tree. not afford to have it always night,—and But her heart seemed to have yearnwe must think that the broad, gay morn- ings beyond even the circle of home and


friends. She longed for the sorrowful limed, he appeared to yield his soul up to and the afflicted, -- she would go down to her leading with a wondering bumility, the forgotten and the oppressed, — and as to some fair, miraculous messenger of made herself the coinpanion of the Doc- Heaven. All questions of internal extor's secret walks and explorings among perience, all delicate shadings of the the poor victims of the slave-ships, and spiritual history, with which his pastoral entered with zeal as teacher among his communings in his flock made him conAfrican catechumens.

versant, he brought to her to be resolved Nothing but the limits of bodily strength with the purest simplicity of trust. could confine her zeal to do and suffer “ She is one of the Lord's rarities," he for others; a river of love had suddenly said, one day, to Mrs. Scudder," and I find been checked in her heart, and it needed it difficult to maintain the bounds of Chrisall these channels to drain off the waters tian faithfulness in talking with her. It that must otherwise have drowned her in is a charm of the Lord's hidden ones that the suffocating agonies of repression. they know not their own beauty; and

Sometimes, indeed, there would be a God forbid that I should tempt a creature returning thrill of the old wound, -- one made so perfect by divine grace to selfof those overpowering moments when exaltation, or lay my hand unadvisedly, some turn in life brings back anew a as Uzzah did, upon the ark of God, by great anguish. She would find unex- my inconsiderate praises !” pectedly in a book a mark that he had Well, Doctor,” said Miss Prissy, who sat placed there,—or a turn in conversation in the corner, sewing on the dove-colored would bring back a tone of his voice,- silk, “I do wish you could come into one or she would see on some thoughtless of our meetings and hear those blessed young head curls just like those which prayers. I don't think you nor anybody were swaying to and fro down among the else ever heard anything like 'em." wavering seaweeds,- and then her heart “I would, indeed, that I might with gave one great throb of pain, and turned propriety enjoy the privilege,” said the for relief to some immediate act of love Doctor. to some living being. They who saw “Well, I'll tell you what,” said Miss her in one of these moments felt a surg- Prissy; “next week they're going to meet ing of her heart towards them, a moist- here; and I'll leave the door just ajar, and ure of the eye, a sense of some inexpres- you can hear every word, just by standsible yearning, and knew not from what ing in the entry.” pain that love was wrung, nor how that " Thank you, Madam,” said the Doctor; poor heart was seeking to still its own "it would certainly be a blessed privilege, throbbings in blessing them.

but I cannot persuade myself that such By what name shall we call this beau- an act would be consistent with Christian tiful twilight, this night of the soul, so propriety." starry with heavenly mysteries ? Not Ah, now do hear that good man!” happiness,— but blessedness. They who said Miss Prissy, after he had left the room; have it walk among men " as sorrowful, “if he ha'n't got the making of a real yet alway rejoicing, -as poor, yet mak- gentleman in him, as well as a real Chrising many rich, -as having nothing, and tian !- though I always did say, for my yet possessing all things."

part, that a real Christian will be a gentleThe Doctor, as we have seen, had

But I don't believe all the temptaalways that reverential spirit towards tions in the world could stir that blessed women which accompanies a healthy and man one jot or grain to do the least thing great nature; but in the constant con- that he thinks is wrong or out of the way. verse which he now held with a beautiful Well, I must say, I never saw such a good being, from whom every particle of selfish man; he is the only man I ever saw good feeling or mortal weakness seemed sub- enough for our Mary."

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