MARY GRAHAM was the innocent cause and the innocent victim of a foul deed ignobly expiated. The perpetrator satisfied the laws of his country by rendering a life for a life: "And happy in my mind was he that died, For many deaths hath the survivor suffer'd." Reason" the guiding spark" has fled; and, haunted by a distempered imagination, she roams abroad in abject poverty, the jeer of the wicked and the thoughtless, the pity of the kind hearted and humane. I have only met her once, but the impression produced by that single interview can never be effaced from my mind "while memory holds her seat.' Finding that my business would admit of such an arrangement, I started, a few summers ago, on a long meditated ramble through the more romantic districts of 8-VOL. IV. I Scotland. I visited every scene which was remarkable either for its natural beauty or its historic associations. On the field of Culloden I have pondered on the "hair-breadth 'scapes" of the unfortunate Charles, and admired the generous attachment of his devoted though mistaken followers. At midnight I have climbed the lofty Nevis," whose mountain top is pinnacled in icy cold sublimity," and I have bewailed the atrocities of Glencoe on the spot where the crimson torrent flowed. While sailing on the Leven, poor Mary Stuart's sufferings would perforce intrude, and the heroic ardour, the romantic chivalry of the noble Douglas made me but the more deeply lament his fate. Within the regal halls of Holyrood I have gazed on all that art could do in perpetuating the remembrance of our Scottish monarchs, and my fancy has conjured up "the song, the revel, and the dance," which pervaded the court in "the days of other years." But why expatiate upon these topies, familiar as they must be to all who have perused the writings of our northern enchanter Rather let me proceed with my tale. 92 I had taken up my residence at Dunkeld for the purpose of enjoying a few days' angling on the Tay, and was returning to the inn one evening, when my attention was arrested by hearing an old Scottish ballad warbled forth with exquisite pathos. There was a plaintive wildness in the tones which bespoke a heart but ill at ease, and I unconsciously pressed forward till I stood in the presence of the songstress. She was beautiful. I do not intend to attempt a description of her person, or her features, knowing that I should be able to convey but a faint idea of the original, and shall leave the reader to fill up the portrait in imagination. Her dress, certainly somewhat fantastic, was arranged with great neatness, and her external appearance did not, in the slightest degree, indicate her internal malady. There was, indeed, a wildness in her eye-a vacant wandering in her gaze, which, at times, betrayed the absence of reason, but she was free from those unequivocal peculiarities which generally denote the maniac. While I conversed with her, she spoke calmly and reasoned sensibly, save when she attempted to relate her own sufferings. Then her whole frame became convulsed, and she spoke so incoherently, that her meaning was more readily ascertained from her gestures and her looks than her words. I contrived to divert her from this subject, and, ere I had left her, she was comparatively calm. The sad fate of one so beautiful, so young,-for she did not then appear more than twenty,— of course interested me deeply; and, on my return to the village, I instituted some inquiries regarding her. The answers I obtained, and the information derived from her own recital, have supplied me with the following particulars of her short but eventful life. Mary Graham was the only daughter, indeed the only child, of parents who moved in a respectable sphere, and who were remarkable for their rigid piety. Were it not to consider it too curiously to consider it thus," I should probably be more correct if I said " a rigid observance of religious ordinances;" for in Scotland the one is frequently suffered to usurp the place of the other, and many contrive, by outward semblance, to obtain credit for inward feeling. She was beloved by Donald Rose, and she returned his passion with the ardent fervour of a woman's first and only love. He was, in all respects, her equal, and there was not a lass in the parish who did not set her cap at Donald. Yet there was not one who envied Mary because she was his choice. She was so good, so kind, and so clever, that everybody rejoiced in the prospect of her union with the man of her heart; and, to crown her happiness, the parents of both parties smiled upon their love. It was settled that the marriage should take place as soon as Donald could obtain a farm in the neighbourhood, and they meantime lived in the indulgence of those fond endearments which can be better felt than described. About this time a Mr. Wilson became a neighbour of old Graham's. There was little wonder that Mary's beauty and address should attract his attention; and, in a short time, he made her proposals of marriage. They were received as might have been expected. She thanked him for his kind opinion, she was proud of his partiality, but her heart and hand were plighted to another. Like a true man of the world, he instantly went to her father, and, representing the state of his affairs, soon convinced the old man that he was a much more eligible son-inlaw than Donald Rose. A few evenings after, Donald was sitting as usual conversing with Mary in her father's house, when Mr. Wilson entered, and the subject was mentioned for the first time in his hearing. The old man, addressing himself to Donald, said, "I've been thinking my lad, that ye're owre young to marry. Ye're no sae steady as a man should be wha taks charge o' a family. I would like to see how ye come on for a few years afore I would suffer my bairn to leave her father's roof for yours. Now, Mr. Wilson's a douce man and a man o' substance, and Mary's mither and my sel' think it best for a' parties that she should accept his offer, and that ye should be your ain master again. We'll aye be glad to see you though, and to hear o' your welfare." A hectic flush passed over Donald's cheek-for a few moments he sat motionless; but at length he rose and said, " Mary Graham, is it by your desire that this is spoken? Say, ay, and, miserable though it maks me, I relinquish my claim at once; for if I have lost your love, what's a' beside? Say no, and nae earthly power shall separate us. "Can ye ask me sic a question, Donald? Hear me, father: your ain tongue betrothed me to this lad; in the presence of an all-seeing Heaven ye declared me his, and in the presence of that Heaven I now call upon you to keep your word. It's no to me ye forfeit it, but to ane wha will require an account. The first lesson ye taught me was to respect the truth, and no to tell a falsehood even in sport. I hae tended ye frae childhood, an' the best proof that I have been a dutiful daughter is this-though austere to ithers, ye never said to me, Mary, that was wrang.' Still would I tend you, still watch your sick bed, day and night, nor e'er repine; but when ye would mak' traffic o' your daughter's heart, when you would drive her to a mercenary prostitution (for it is a prostitution o' the mind, and waur than that o' the body), her soul sickens at the revolting perjury-she maun claim what is due to hersel' ard her character, and protest against sic unnatural barbarity. O mither, ye hae loved yersel', and how would ye hae liked had your cruel parents torn ye frae the man o' your heart and gi'en ye to a stranger?-But ae word mair. Ye may tear me frae my Donald, but I never, never will be anither's. I here, before Heaven an' these witnesses, declare mysel' this lad's wife."- "Tak' her frae him," said her father, and Mr. Wilson rose to obey the order. "Never," exclaimed Donald; "she has placed hersel' under my protection, seeing that her parents are unequal to the task, and sooner than suffer her to quit my side, my heart's blood stains your floor. Ye've driven me to despair, but I still ken whar to bestow my Mary." On leaving the cottage together, Mary turned round, and with a tone of mingled anguish and reproach, exclaimed, Walter Graham, ye are henceforth a childless man. Donald conveyed her to the residence of his parents, by whom every effort was made to reconcile old Graham to the match-but in vain. He could think of nothing but the worldly advantages to be expected from a union with Mr. Wilson, and accused Mary of disobedience and ingratitude. This charge stung her to the heart, but she repined not: "Alas! our affections are not at our command. We cannot bestow them on an object, and then recall them at pleasure. We're fickle enow as it is, an' why should we mak' oursels mair sae?" Ungrateful she was not, for no bad feeling could find a place in her pure bosom; and, spite of their unnatural treatment, she still inquired for her parents with truly filial solicitude, and never did she lay her head upon her pillow without commending them to the care of Heaven. One would have thought that time would soften Walter Graham's heart, and that the declining health of his daughter would induce him to secure her happiness by withdrawing his opposition but no gold was his only object, and he cared not if it were purchased by his daughter's misery. fort, I would leave the world without a sigh." He was, of course, found guilty, in terms of his own confession, and the presiding judge pronounced the awful sentence of the law. He was a venerable man, and the tears which that day bedewed his cheek did not disgrace his ermine. But who can describe poor Mary's sufferings? She refused to be separated from her lover. She shared his cell-she ministered to his wants, and unceasingly upbraided herself as the author of his misery. She accompanied him to the scaffold with firm step. She joined in the devotions of the day with calmness and fervency; but when the fatal signal dropped, she uttered a frantic shriek, and sunk motionless into the arms of the chaplain. Animation was speedily restored, but her senses had fled for ever! Sharpe's London Mag. STANDING." None can describe, or feel the joy, That triumph'd in the cot, Gossips the father's image traced One Sunday morning, about this time, Donald had sauntered alone into a neighbouring wood. There he accidentally met Mr. Wilson for the first time since their interview at Walter Graham's, and intended to pass without the usual salutations; but he was prevented. Wilson tauntingly inquired how Mary was, and insinuated that few discreet maidens would leave a father's roof to live with a gay young man. "Breathe not a word, Sir, either against her virtue or my honour, or we may both repent it. If she has left her father's house, ye weel ken why, and I have yet to learn that my parents have done wrang in shelterin' a lassie whose only crime was keeping her faith to their son. Gude mornin', Sir." He would have pursued his walk, but, Wilson, determined to fasten a quarrel on him, used still more offensive language. A DOMESTIC TALE-NOT OF " LONG. Love and honour both incited Donald to retaliation ; and, ere he left the spot, Wilson lay stretched lifeless on the ground. Unknowing whither he went, or what he did, the hapless youth proceeded directly to the church. The service had already commenced, and he took his seat beside Mary. But he could not join in the worship as he was wont to do ;-he was restless and perturbed, and his altered demeanour attracted the notice of all who sat near him. In the evening Wilson's body was found, and it will excite little surprise that Donald's conduct in church, and the previous rivalship between him and the deceased, at once rendered him an object of suspicion. He was apprehended, and instantly avowed himself the murderer. On his trial at the ensuing assizes he still persisted in asserting his guilt, spite of the advice of his counsel and the court. "Why, my lords, should I add falsehood to the list of my crimes? I here stand before you-alas! that it should be so and I can safely say that, till that fatal day, I never wronged the living being my Creator formed. Nor was this crime premeditated. I entertained not the slightest enmity towards the deceased, but he heaped insult upon insult, and aspersed the fame of her who is dearer to me than life. I then lost all command over my feelings, and they hurried me to madness -to murder. Think not that I urge this in extenuation of my crime. No: I wait for judgment- An eye for an eye-a tooth for a tooth-a life for a life.' By an earthly tribunal, my doom is fixedinevitable, but I look for mercy from the Judge above. I only feel for my Mary; and, were I assured of her future com As like as spot to spot; The child received his lot, And stretch'd to months, as does the moon,— And this was bread, to what By that which he lived,-Nott. He simper'd, sigh'd; he loved, declared His passion for "Miss Lot:" "Miss Lot" was changed to-Nott. And added knot to-Knott. The knot well tied, they firmer grew, Could like them bear the knot. But" Harry Nott" was not. Disease Life made,-Death broke the knot. P. NOBODY. Continued from page 105. (For the Olio.) I sought relief in opium: I had read the commencement of the "Confessions of an Opium Eater," and so determined to seek consolation from his remedy, at the same time regaling myself with a delicious feast. I had not then, as I have since done, perused the final part of that work. Ópium with all its intoxicating oblivion, brought no allay to my woes; it only added fresh horrors to the continual and torturing night-mare that for ever clothed the realities of my slumber. My mind teemed with myriads of skeletons my brain was a dissecting room of unlimited extent and horror! In some of the sufferings of my delirium, I have found myself laid out upon the table-all my limbs distended, so as to expose every muscle of my frame, and this drawn to such a nicety of cut, that it was the thread between life and death; one extra pull, (so it appeared to me,) would have ended the excruciating pains which ran through out my body. While thus lingering in this extreme of agony, the slow and professional hand of the infernal Klaus has extracted the internals, and a critical discussion has been held upon the nature of their disease, while I have seemed to exist and behold all ! These surely are sufficient to explain what I have suffered; alas! human nature would only shudder at what I could relatę; but let me draw a veil over the rest, and keep to the events of my real life. I became a reformed being :- study alone occupied my mind. I had offered thrice the sum to my diabolical body holder for his redemption ;-but no, I was his irrevocably his! It was not the care of interment, but the abhorrence that had now possessed me against dissection. I fancied I should sustain those torments to which I had already been a martyr in my dreams. My only consolation (if I had any) was, that my embryo dissector, being of a very advanced age, might be carried off, and become a dissected before me-for thus only could I escape from him, and be preserved, for I had contracted myself to Klaus only, and not to his " heirs, exors. admors. and assigns.' But no, his cheeks though hollow, were still healthy, and his gait firm; he seemed to be endowed with life infer nal.t If he wished for my death, -I am sure I have hourly prayed for hist. *He talks of his slumbers-can they equal mine! + Query-Eternal? Printer's Devil. Talk of Mephistophiles, and the thin It must appear evident to all calm and sensible philosophers, (and how numerous has this class at length become,) that the only dissection I was doomed to experience was that during my life-that which lived in perspective was nothing-but that nothing was my dread. I was myself, yet had no claim, no command over my body! At this period of my narrative I was violently attached to an amiable and beautiful young female, the daughter of a retired naval officer. Affection was mutual, and the balmy and enraptured feeling which now breathed upon my existence, seems to me now as the perusal of some tale of enchantment; indeed, during this portion of my days, the thoughts which had previously been my eternal companions, waking or sleeping, were erased from my memory by the warm halo which the presence and charms of my beautiful intended threw around her! We had lingered through two years of unclouded bliss, and had approached the termination of our hopes-hopes that were to be realized, in united affection. The contract was already completed, with the exception of some blanks which were to be filled up by the hand of him, whose body was no longer his own! I had taken the contract of protracted love home with me, and after filling up the blanks with some delicate settlements on my wife, placed it in a drawer containing my private papers. It was not (through some neglect) endorsed as is usually the case, and in the hurry and workings of my mind, I had forgotten to do so. The following evening it was to be returned to the father of my blushing bride, for his sanction, and I accordingly left it with him when we parted for the night. Two days had elapsed, before I again visited them-business of the utmost importance had detained me-but, when at length, uncaged from the toil, I flew to their abode on the wings of blissful expectation, to be amply rewarded with the smiles of my Eliza. On entering the house, I was most ceremoniously ushered into a room where I was requested to remain until I was waited upon by the Commodore, her father. Little did I anticipate the event that followed, nor had most distant idea of this unusual coolness. An hour had passed in this state of feverish excitement, and I had almost summoned the gentleman in Peter Schlemel, who possessed the grand passion for every body's shadow except his own; they are nothing compared to this Peter Klaus,-this being, whose knife. thus sharpened, was suspended over my Iread like the guillotine of fate. |