was sitting. The child slipped from my knees and ran forward to embrace her mother. I sat for an instant like one turned to marble, pulseless and breathless. But the firm will did not desert me, and with a grave Asiatic salutation, I rose and pushed forward a chair for the lady. Eustis stood by in silence, while Ellen questioned the teacher in her mild way, about the progress of her child. I replied in broken English and in a thick voice, avoiding her glance with my eyes. She was pale, feeble, and emaciated, but wore an assumed cheerfulness which cut me to the soul. My confidence in her was restored. Finding the disguise quite perfect, I began to feel at ease in it, and like one who watches from a place of concealment, felt a strange pleasure in the deception. Eustis appeared to me in a new light. He seemed harsh, selfish, and haughty. Already he entertained the bitter feelings of a step-father. "You find it a very pleasant occupation, doubtless," said he to me, satirically, "this teaching of babes to lisp languages." I bowed respectfully, assenting. "It is a waste of time and money, sir, for fashion's sake," he continued. dren forget languages as quickly as they learn them." As Eustis left the room, my daughter looked after him with an expression of fear, and turning to her mother, stammered out some childish expressions, and then said very distinctly, "Mamma, I've got a secret, but I'll tell it to you first," and getting up on my knees, she whispered, "I'd rather have you for my papa than him ;" then running quickly to her mother, she whispered the same to her, but loud enough for me to hear. Ellen blushed and silenced the child, and after a brief interchange of indifferent conversation, she thanked me for the kindness I had shown her daughter, but signified at the same time that as it was her guardian's wish that she should be sent into the country for her health, the lessons would be discontinued for the present. There was no alternative. I must take my leave, or discover myself, and that, too, instantly. The former counsel prevailed. I wished my revenge to be complete. I rose and withdrew. A month's interval remained, for it was understood that the marriage would take "Chil-place on the 1st day of October. Eustis had hired and was furnishing a splendid establishment. He came and went in his own carriage, with liveried servants, paid, as my jealousy informed me, out of the proceeds of my estates. Each day Ellen rode out with him. They went alone together. For six days or more I observed them from my windows. They sat upon the same seat in the carriage, he often with his arm about her waist. I sharpened my revenge upon such sights. I resolved almost unconsciously upon his death. I answered in Italian, a language which he spoke fluently, that it was a fashion indeed, but I thought a very elegant one. He turned to Ellen. "Dearest, I would send her into the country. The air of New York does not suit the child." She made no reply, but took her daughter in her arms, and after giving it a long silent embrace, turned to him a look very sad and petitioning, as if to say, "It is my sole comfort, and would you take this away." His countenance darkened to a frown. Turning away hastily, he left us, and I heard the hall door close after him. The hour, the very moment, had arrived. I deliberated. I was once more alone with my wife and my child. My disguise, thought I, is so perfect, I need have no fear of detection. If I declare myself now, what proof shall I have to justify my revenge on my betrayer? Nay, what proof have I that he has wronged or deceived me? I must have proofs relevant and sure. Let the Various rumors confirmed my suspicion that his magnificence was at my cost. Four plantations of the widow's, it was said, were sold by him in Louisiana, realizing half a million. The marriage was held to be a mercenary project. The stepchild would be defrauded, perhaps killed by neglect. My own name was never mentioned. People seemed to have forgotten that the child must have had a father, and a widow a husband. But that was nothing. The days went rapidly by. There wanted but ten to the fatal first of October. I bethought me of the negro This woman was an Ashantee, a tribe noted for cunning and intelligence. She had attached herself to Ellen with the feeling of a foster mother, and exercised a great influence over her. Late that evening I watched for her at the corner of the street, under the lamp, and as she passed me I called her by name. Linda, for that was the name of the slave, carried a letter in her hand. As I touched her shoulder, she started, and unconsciously let it fall. A glance upon the superscription showed the hand writing of my wife, which was large and peculiar. I stepped forward and set my foot upon the letter to hide it from Linda, and then spoke to her. A slouched hat and a heavy cloak concealed my dress and features. "Your mistress is not well," said I, "but I have a receipt that will cure her." "Who are you?" "I am a magician. dying of an evil-eye." Your mistress is The woman was silent for a moment, and seeing the impression which I had made, I threw back the cloak and showed the beard and features of the Italian teacher. "Lor bless us, master, is it you?" "You know me? Well, here's money. You can keep a secret, Linda. Tell no person, not even your mistress, nor Mr. Eustis, that you have seen me here, and I will give you more money." tive I put a number of questions relative to the approaching marriage, and gathered thus much :-That the marriage was a forced one, and was contrary to the inclination of the weaker party. That it had been urged repeatedly by Eustis, but that Ellen had put it off from month to month. That it had twice before been agreed to, and deferred by her repugnance. That Eustis disliked the little girl, and succeeded in removing her from his sight. That Ellen had fallen sick in consequence, and was thought to be very ill, but that the marriage preparations went on as if nothing was the matter. Gaining confidence by degress, the woman communicated a variety of minute information, confirming my worst suspicions. Of any injunction laid upon her mistress by the former husband, however, she either had no knowledge, or would communicate none. Finding that nothing further could be gathered from this source, I sent her away, and presently took up the letter which was directed to James Eustis, Esq. I took it home to my lodgings, and sat down with a palpitating heart to its perusal. It was a sad and humble petition for the restoration of her child. It alluded to the injunction, in a spirit of acquiescence. She was ready to accomplish to the letter the will of her former husband, but asked for gentleness and forbearance from his friend and successor. Figure to yourself, if possible, the agony "Lor! master is very generous- -master is a great gentleman: massy! I'll go to of grief, passion, and remorse, that posworld's end for him!" "You were sent to Mr. Eustis with a letter." "Yes; Lor me, where is it! I've lost it! What'll Missus say to that! Christ a' massy, I'm very miserable. O, good gentleman, find me the letter!" said she, fumbling confusedly in her dress, and looking up and down the pavement. "I'll give 'e back 'e money, and a sight more to find 'e letter." "Meet me here to-morrow at this hour, -it is nine o'clock,-and you shall have the letter and money with it; but be silent now, and answer every question I ask you, and take care how you deceive me, for fear of the evil-eye that's on your mistress and may be set on you too." sessed me through that dreadful night. Nature struggled with will. I longed, with a feverish impatience, to go instantly and clasp her to my bosom. Duty and inclination urged it; but the desire of a more full and perfect revenge, aided by a singular feeling, in which there was a mixture of fatalism, a kind of "biding of the time," held me back. O, for a grain of common sense to break in upon and spoil the plots of all high tragedies! The next day, I met the woman at the appointed place and hour, and gave her the letter sealed as I had found it, and with the same impression. My own seal ring was the counterpart of my wife's, with a slight difference in the engraving of the names, which would, I thought, escape deWhile she stood trembling and atten-tection. The initial letters of both our names were engraved in cyphers on the out for it. Can you live happily with a cornelians. Admittance to Ellen had become impossible under any pretext. She denied herself to every person. By the advice of a physician, as I learned from common rumor, her child was brought back and restored to her. The preparations for the wedding continued. It was said, that a moderate fortune had been expended on them. The furniture and hangings of the new mansion, which I took pains to get a sight of at the maker's,-thinking, indeed, that the right owner of the property might, at least, look at it,-was of the very richest kind. These preparations, thought I, are for my proper use and convenience. When my false friend has furnished my house, and is about to marry my wife, I will step forward and take possession of both. What farther ought to be done, seemed uncertain. That Eustis deserved death, was clear, and at my hands; but whether it were wiser to let him live, whether it were not more prudent to do so, considering the character of the people about me and the strictness of their laws against homicide, gave me much doubt. Whether to live quietly and happily with Ellen, and leave God to punish her false guardian, or whether to listen to the dark suggestions of revenge, I struggled hard to know. I meditated through nights of fever, and days of gloom, and could arrive at no conclusion. During a long acquaintance with misery I had forgotten the taste of peace and happiness. The prospect of it seemed dim and uncertain. Of the sweetness of revenge, on the other hand, I had no doubt, and the question of right or wrong never once presented itself. I thought only of pleasing the paramount desire. A fever excited by these dreadful agitations kept me in doors until the day preceding that which was announced for the wedding. The marriage was to be in church, in the morning, with every ceremony. The bride would then enter the mansion prepared for her by her new lord and master. "Vengeance! vengeance!" I whispered constantly to myself. "Can you live shameless without it? God, who made you, commands it. He punishes the deceiver by the hand of the deceived. Nature cries wife injured first by your own folly, and then by the treachery of a false villain to whom you gave power over her, without full and ample reparation? enduring for her sake and honor the danger of the law and the anger of the people-revenging her own and your injuries as no law will or can avenge them? Struggling with these doubts, and longing with a keen desire for their peaceful and happy solution, I wandered all night through the streets of the city. The closeness and silence of my chamber was intolerable. Toward morning I came to the house where my wife was, and sat down upon the marble steps. A kind of sleep came upon me like a trance. I fancied that Ellen leaned out at the window, and with a pale and dejected countenance besought me for her sake not to become a murderer. The watchman passing, aroused It was just dawn. The gloom of an October storm, darkened by a foggy haze, rather agreed with and diminished the horrors of my mind. A gleam of divine mercy shot athwart the darkness of my me. soul. I resolved that Eustis should not die. I would be present in church to forbid the bans, but without weapons Ellen, thought I, is feeble, and the horrors of a scene of death might destroy her. Let him live, and God be the avenger. The hour of the ceremony was ten in the morning. The precious interval was employed by me in restoring my person as far as possible to its former appearance. I procured a suit such as I had been accustomed to wear when I first knew Ellen. My great beard shaved away, and every attention given to restore my person to its former looks; I fortified myself with food, which I had not tasted for thirty-six hours. An hour before the expected time I stood upon the steps of the small chapel appointed for the ceremony. The doors were already open, and a throng of people of all conditions, attracted by the scandal of the match, and the fashionable notoriety of the Eustises, were assembled in the galleries and aisles to witness the marriage. After some difficulty, and with a tempest of secret agitation, I found a place suitable for concealment behind a pillar, from which I could step forward at the right moment. Having a long time to wait, I employed the dread ful interval in again revolving the resolu- ( A dead silence followed. Ellen turned tion that had so long occupied me. The her head slowly, as if roused from a trance, spirit of mercy prevailed a second time, and seeing me directly behind her, sank and I resolved chiefly for her sake to let down silently, as it were, all of a heap. I him live. That I was myself more guilty sprang forward and caught her in my arms. than he, conscience had not yet suggested. She was still conscious, and murmured in That was an after thought. a voice hardly audible, "why not sooner dearest?" After that came for her an eternal silence. Fool! I had killed her. The strokes of the great bell, counting the tenth hour, smote one by one through my brain, and silenced the pulses of my heart. There was a murmur in the crowd as they gave way on either hand for the the bridal party. Of these I saw and remember two only, as they stood before the altar. The solemn voice of the clergyman repeating the forms of prayer and exhortation sounded idly and tediously in my ears. Eustis stood upright, with a countenance affecting coolness and resolution. It was a look that defied congratulation. His glances went scornfully from side to side. And yet no feelings of hatred, nor any stir of revenge possessed me. Pale and trembling, and with a face of death-like sadness, Ellen stood by him, supported on either side by Eustis and one of the bridesmaids. Her eyes were heavy, and sank constantly. I stepped gradually nearer during the first part of the ceremony, until I could have caught her in my arms had she fallen, for the throng was great around us. When it was bidden by the clergyman to all present, if they knew of any obstacle why those two should not be joined together, to declare it, an involuntary voice rose to my throat, and pronounced the words, "this lady has a husband living, and I am he." I remember nothing distinctly that followed. Eustis had turned to support Ellen as she fell, and I struck him at the same instant a blow upon the neck. He too, died soon after, of the injury. My life since then has been one of solitude and repentance, but now as I relate these things, a gleam of comfort crosses the night of recollection. My wife loved me to the last. I was the tempter of my friend, and if he fell under too strong a temptation, I had surrendered under a less one. The fiend Jealousy overmastered me, but now, thank God, I have what I had not then, a CONSCIENCE." The features of the hermit, which had become pale and agitated as he approached the conclusion of his story, regained their sober tranquillity. He looked at me with an abstracted gaze, as if he had been speaking only to himself, and when I made an effort to reply, he rose and went into the house, closing the door after him as though no one had been near. The shadows were already descending the hill sides and lengthening in the vallies. I arose, and returning almost unconscious of the way, pursued my journey full of sad but salutary thoughts. POEMS AND PROSE WRITINGS OF RICHARD H. DANA.* HAVING several times, through these columns, joined in the solicitations which have been frequently made to Mr. Dana for many years past, to collect and republish his writings, we hardly need commence a notice of them by saying that we are glad to possess them at last, in this convenient and beautiful form. But we must not be suspected of having urged their republication from any other motive than the wish to read them; as for reviewing them there was no such design. his poems appeared in 1827. That year he contributed a review of Brockden Brown, to the United States Review and Literary Gazette, and in the four following years, three other reviews to other magazines. In 1833, he published the second edition of his poems, and tales from the Idle Man, and the same year furnished an essay to the American Quarterly Observer. Two years after, in 1835, he sent another essay, "Law as suited to Man," to the same publication. Since that time he has not come before the public as an author until now, in these volumes, which include all that we have enumerated, with some additions. The poems and tales had been for some years out of print, and the reviews were mostly unknown; of some of them we never saw the names until we saw them here. And we undertake the task now with a very lively sense of the force of the line non omnis fert omnia tellus." To analyze the characteristics, and present a fair portrait of such a writer as Dana, is a labor from which we recoil with a feeling of being too old and worn. There might have been a time, so the mind flatters it self, but not now. We can only read him These volumes may therefore be regardand derive vigor from contact with his spir-ed as almost a new publication. They are it, and prattle discursively of his excellen- new to most readers, and are in themselves cies and defects, without attempting to sum as fresh as if written yesterday. They bethem or classify them. In a word, we can gin with the poems, which, though they are examine him critically only as we do a the best known, and have been commented landscape in nature, under different as- on before in these pages, (three or four pects; such a cloud is fine, such a river years ago,) we must be permitted to linger beautiful, such a rock harsh, we say, mere- over awhile before speaking of the essays. ly as they happen to strike us, without presuming to unify or find causes for these effects. Even this much we enter upon with a kindred misgiving as to the result, though not precisely in the same spirit with Macbeth, when he abandons his castle for the plain-and our only excuse with the reader must be, that it is our vocation—“it is no sin for a man to labor in his vocation." Dana's earliest productions were an essay called "Old Times," and several review articles, contributed to the North American Review in the years 1817-19. "The Idle Man" was published in New York in 1821-22. The first edition of The first and largest of the poems, the Buccaneer, has long since taken its rank among our descriptive classics. It is a piece of remarkable originality, power and beauty-the most purely artistic, that is, impersonal, and remote from individual experience, of any of its author's writings. The conception of the story, and the world it takes us into, are as new and peculiar as they are in the Ancient Mariner. The sea views are as exact as Crabbe's, and far more beautiful; the pirates, the hero, the scenery, and more than all, the spirit steed, were uncreated before; they are all the genuine offspring of the poetic fancy, and are managed with that power *Poems and Prose Writings. By RICHARD HENRY DANA. In two volumes. New York: Baker & Scribner. 1850. |