Gambar halaman
PDF
ePub

No. 13.

PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 1,

Terms.-Published every Thursday by E. Littell & Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh Streets, Philadelphia. It will contain four handsome engravings every year. Price Two Dollars and a Half a year, payable in advance.

Agents who procure and forward payment for four subscribers, shall receive the fifth copy for one year; and so in proportion for a larger number.

THE following letters, copied from the daily papers, explain, so far as we know them, the causes of the late duel between Mr. William Miller, jr. and Lieutenant Charles G. Hunter. The meeting took place on the borders of Delaware, and Mr. Miller was shot through the lungs and died immediately.

Our acquaintance with him was very slight, although of several years standing. So far as we knew his character from our own observation or the opinions of others, it was unusually amiable and gentle. Of Mr. Hunter we know nothing but what has lately been made public -and of that we lay aside all the reports which tend to aggravate his guilt in this affair, and confine our notice to his own circular, which will be found in the accompanying papers. Judging from that only, it appears that Mr. Miller did every thing that he could to satisfy the opponent, whose ferocity could not rest short of his death.

We are aware that while Christian gentleness, and the fear of God are thought unmanly, we could say nothing of the wickedness of such murder, that would have any effect upon public opinion. Mr. Hunter has however fallen far short of the standard of a chivalrous gentleman, as settled by the practice of those who consider such an appeal to arms necessary. The rudeness with which he carefully avoids affixing to the name of his opponent the customary mark of respect, is characteristic of the manner of the whole circular-and is in

keeping with the murderous determination

which is the matter of it.

(COPY.)

New Brunswick, March 7th, 1830. Sir,-We the undersigned, friends to Mr. Charles H. Duryee, of the U. S. Navy, having been informed of a statement made by your friend, Mr. R. Dillon Drake, of the difficulty existing between your friend and Mr. Duryee, beg to make the following communication.

We are unwilling to touch upon the unfortunate subject which has laid the foundation of this misunderstanding, and beg to take up Mr. Drake's statement, at that point which is yet unsettled and which involves Mr. Duryee, and that the grounds upon which we are about to act, may be fully known, we are impelled to state that we disapprove that part of Mr. Du ryee's conduct which has now become the subject of discussion; nor do we intend to dictate to Mr. Duryee what he shall do, as we deem that he has now lost the privilege to trace his own line of conduct, and that it rests with Mr. Drake to point out what step on the part of Mr. Duryee shall efface the stain which this rashness of Mr. Duryee has put upon the character of your friend.

We cannot come forward to shield our friend from the consequences which may occur, but

after reflecting and consulting together we have strengthened each other in the hope that this matter may be honourably adjusted; that the character and credit of both parties may be equally maintained, and society benefited by an illustration of the maxim, "that it requires more courage to acknowledge and atone for an insult, than shrink from the feeling that prompts us to the act." We can confidently advance that Mr. Duryee is convinced of his error, that he is willing to acknowledge he committed it, while under such excitement as his reason could not control.

The spirit of moderation which pervades the statement of Mr. Drake, has given to those, among us, who are not personally acquainted with him, a high opinion of his character, and we trust that the same spirit will lead to an amicable adjustment of this affair: we would propose that a committee on our part should meet one composed of the friends of Mr. Drake, at Trenton, where other reasons shall be adduced to palliate the aggression which this form of communication would preclude: should this meet the approbation of Mr. Drake and his friends, please appoint a day on which our committee may meet that of Mr. Drake's friends.

We are respectfully, Sir, your most obedient servants,

R. A. DE RUSSY, MILES C. SMITH, JAMES NEILSON, HATFIELD SMITH, DIGBY B. SMITH.

To William Miller, jr. Esq. Mr. Miller replied in the following letter: Philadelphia, March 9. Gentlemen, I had the honour of receiving your letter of the 7th, yesterday afternoon, and lost no time in laying it before Mr. Drake and his friends. After careful consideration of the subject, I have the pleasure of submitting to you the following reply.

The difference between Mr. Duryee and Mr. Drake is looked upon by the latter, as having been already finally settled, and in a manner entirely satisfactory to himself.

It is the decided and unanimous opinion of the friends of Mr. Drake, that no stain whatever rests upon the character of that gentleman, from any circumstance which arose during his late misunderstanding with Mr.

Duryee.

The moderation which you kindly ascribe to the conduct of Mr. Drake, has been exercised by him through every stage of the affair. He has never entertained any feeling of ill will towards your friend, but has acted throughout dispassionately, and solely regarded what was due to his own character.

Regarding therefore the affair which forms the subject of your communication as finally and definitively settled, Mr. Drake and his friends are unable to discern that any advantage can arise from reopening, and making it a ground of further and new discussion, and though they appreciate your motives for interposition, respectfully decline doing so. Assuring you, gentlemen, that Mr. Drake, as well as myself, feels gratified by the obliging tone of your letter to me,

I am, very respectfully, your most obedient servant, (signed) WM. MILLER, jr. To R. A. De Russy, Miles C. Smith, Jas. Neilson, Hatfield Smith, Digby B. Smith, Esquires.

Then followed the annexed circular from Lieut. Hunter.

Sir, On the evening of the 10th instant, I received a letter from Mr. Charles H. Duryee, requesting me to come immediately to Phila

1830.

delphia, as he needed my services as a friend, in an affair which admitted of no delay. The next evening I arrived here, and learned that a letter signed by five persons of New Brunswick, N. J. had been sent to Wm. Miller, jr. of this city, on the subject of his (Mr. Duryee's) conduct in the affair between Mr. Griffith and R. Dillon Drake.

As this letter was unauthorized by Mr. Dryec, and considered by him as an improper interference on the part of those who signed it, the next morning at half past eleven o'clock, I called on William Miller, jr. at his office, and demanded of him the letter and all copies of it. At first he refused-but I explained to him, that unless he immediately delivered up the letter and copies, he must meet Mr. Duryee. He then said that he must have time to reflect upon it; to which I replied, that he had already had time enough since the receipt of Mr. Duryee's note which was written to him on the subject two days before, and that he must give it up immediately. He then consented to give up the letter, and burn all the copies in my presence, as soon as he could procure them. I asked him what time would be necessary for that purpose. He answered one hour. And upon his promising upon his honour, that by that time he would fulfil his engagement, I left him. In one hour's time, he really did arrive at the United States Hotel, and handed to me the letter in question, and said that if I would call at his office at two o'clock, he would burn the copies in my presence.

At the hour appointed I called on him, and a copy of the letter, which he declared to me was the only one taken, and the only one which he believed to be in existence, was destroyed by him. I then compelled Mr. Miller to draw up and sign the following certificate"Charles G. Hunter, Esq.

Sir, I have this morning destroyed in your presence the only copy of a letter received by me from five gentlemen, friends of Mr. Duryee in New Brunswick, relating to the affairs of that gentleman, which I know or believe to be in existence. You of course understand that I speak of copies taken from the letter received by me. If I see or hear of any such copies hereafter, I shall have them destroyed. Yours respectfully, WM. MILLER, jr.

12th March, 1830.

Wm. Miller, jr. assured me that he had not shown the letter received by him from New Brunswick, to more than two persons-if I recollect distinctly those persons were Mr. Camac and R. D. Drake. If by any accident it should be discovered that Wm. Miller, jr. did show, or communicate the substance of the contents of that lotter to any others than those above named, lie will have an excellent opportunity of displaying his genius, by endeavouring to prove to the world that he has not been guilty of downright treachery and falsehood.

Notwithstanding that Wm. Miller, jr. declared to me that he had destroyed the only copy taken, and the only one which he believed to be in existence, and although he distinctly understood me to say, that I would hold him accountable to me for any circulation of the same, on the morning of the 17th inst. to my great surprise, I saw a printed copy of it. I immediately addressed the following note to Wm. Miller, jr. believing, and still believing, (notwithstanding any thing that William Miller, jr. may say to the contrary) that he could have prevented its circulation, and that its publication was not without his knowledge or

consent.

March 17, 1830. Sir: After your base and ungentlemanly conduct in suffering a letter to be published

[blocks in formation]

I had requested Mr. Westcott not to leave Wm. Miller, jr. until he should have received a positive answer to my communication; accordingly, while in his office he addressed the following note to Wm. Miller, jr.

Philadelphia, March 17, 1830.

To William Miller, jr. Esq.

Sir,-You will oblige me by giving a written acceptance or refusal of the communication I had the honour to make you from Charles G. Hunter, Esq. Respectfully, &c. H. WESTCOTT.

He returned in answer as follows:
Philadelphia, March 17, 1830.

Lieut. H. Westcott,
Sir,-Having had no connexion with the
publication of the letter alluded to from New
Brunswick, but on the contrary, having been
altogether ignorant of such a publication hav-
ing taken place till you informed me of it this
morning, I decline receiving the note from
Mr. Hunter, of which you are the bearer.
Yours respectfully,

WM. MILLER, jr. During the latter part of the abovementioned interview, R. Dillon Drake made his appearance, and handed to William Miller, jr. a manuscript copy of the New Brunswick letter, saying, that it had been in the possession of his brother Dr. Drake. Upon which Mr. Miller observed to Mr. Westcott, "You see, sir, that I fulfil my promise to Mr. Hunter, and will destroy this copy in your presence." Mr. Westcott replied, "I do not care about seeing it destroyed, as there are printed copies of it in circulation."

All that William Miller, jr. may urge in palliation, will not make me believe that he could not have recalled the copy from Dr. Drake on the same day he destroyed the other, if he had exerted himself in the manner which a gentle man should have exerted himself, after the pledge he had given me to that effect.

I have no doubt that I will exceedingly gratify Wm. Miller, jr. when I conclude by saying, that although I hold him in the utmost contempt as a coward, and know him to be guilty of base falsehood, yet I am, and always will be, ready to meet him, whenever he may think proper to accept my invitation.

CHARLES G. HUNTER. United States Hotel, Murch 17, 1830.

To the Editor of the Morning Journal. Sir,-Observing in your paper of this morning an insertion of Charles G. Hunter's circular, I feel it my duty to offer an immediate statement of the honourable fidelity with which my much lamented and esteemed friend, William Miller, jr. Esq. fulfilled his engagement. When I returned to Mr. Miller the copy which he had given to me, he asked me to ascertain whether my brother Dr. Drake had any copy, declaring that he had made a promise to deliver up or destroy every copy which he could discover, and would faithfully perform it to the utmost extent. In consequence I called upon Dr. Drake, and received from him the only copy which he had, or the existence of which be knew. How carefully that copy had been preserved will appear from the following note from him to Mr. Miller, after the publication of Charles G. Hunter's circular.

Philadelphia, 20th March, 1830.

To William Miller, jr. Esq.

Dear Sir, I have this moment received your letter, respecting one addressed to you by R. A. de Russy, Miles C. Smith, James Neilson, Hatfield Smith, and Digby B. Smith, Esquires, and in reply state, that the original of that letter was in my possession for a very short time, that a copy I made from it was also with me but a few hours; that in no manner

was any use made of either by me, nor was it used directly or indirectly, in any manner, to my knowledge. The copy was given up to be delivered to you. The first knowledge of any publication of the above letter, which I had, was on the 17th, at about two o'clock, P. M. when I saw one directed to a friend of mine. And I further state, that no publication could have been made from either the original or copy, whilst in my possession.

Very respectfully, your friend,
ALFRED DRAKE.

In justice to my friends and myself I should

add that I have made the most anxious and

diligent inquiries as to the source whence the publication of the letter from New Brunswick originated, but hitherto without the least sucYours respectfully, R. DILLON DRAKE. Tuesday, March 23d.

cess.

PLAGUE IN LONDON. LONDON was originally built in fens and marshes, the rising grounds near being covered with forests. The Surrey side was a morass, connected by a slip, more or less narrow, with that of Woolwich, stretching down towards the mouth of the Thames; while the fens of Finsbury were connected with the Essex marshes on the opposite bank. A huge sea-wall, the gigantic labour of an unknown era, prevents the marshes from inundation by the Thames; yet of this work, more useful than the Pyramids, and perhaps as durable, tradition has left no name of the author. Thus the site of the modern Babylon was like the ancient, and particularly liable to fevers, which in hotter climates would have borne a type of greater exasperation. The effect of the marshes

is observable at different seasons in the eastern part at present. The fever approaches into suburbs nearest the marshes; sometimes but a few houses breadth in, at others the length of whole streets, as the atmospheric agency is more or less favourable. In like manner, in the warmer climates of Rome we find the marsh nuisance traversing within eertain bounds that can be there more accurately defined. Who, then, will say it is not possible that marsh-fever, introduced into a crowded, filthy, ill-fed population, might not alter its character, and a contagious pestilence arise from the seeds it may sow, appearing perhaps in a season when the customary presence of the marsh disease could scarcely be perceived, or, in other words, in the season of the year least favourable to its action.

The first attack of pestilence on the metropolis which I recollect to have read a record of, was in 961, and it is described as a fever. Its visits were very frequent. In 1348 it is said to have destroyed eight out of ten persons. This pest is farther said to have devastated Europe, and not to have subsided in this country for ten years. In 1407 the metropolis was again visited with a more than common attack of mortality, and thousands perished. In 1487 the pest is called the sweating sickness, and said to destroy life in twenty-four hours. By many this disease was said to be new, but it is probable it was the old pestilence in a different form. In 1517 it is said again to have made dreadful ravages. From this time the city began greatly to increase. It was nearly half a century afterwards, in 1564, before the sickness attacked the city formidably again, and 20,000 persons were carried off by it. It came again in 1603. Its violence was greatest be tween March and December, and it destroyed 30,561 persons, which was a far less number than in many preceding visitations, in proportion to the increase of population. It is said not to have been extinct until 1611. Yet in 1626 and 1627 it appeared again, and destroyed 35,000 persons in twelve months; and in the great plague of 1665 no less than one hundred thousand persons perished from it.

It appears evident that from 1603 to 1665 the

disease was never wholly extinct, and the same thing had probably been the case for ages before. How are we to account for these singular visitations but by the supposition that the causes were inherent, or local, always existing, but only capable of extended action under particularly favourable circumstances, which are no longer in existence? It is in this view of the subject alone that we can reconcile these visitations. The contagionists will tell us that it was imported in a bag of cotton, or a bale of cloth, but common sense revolts at such an absurdity; how comes it that for 165 years since, our merchant-ships have trafficked in the very focus of the most terrible diseases, in all climes, and have never imported any of them? The real truth seems to be, that such diseases every where exist, with favouring circumstances in the mode of living, in site, and temperature, to call them into action, but that they are rendered inert by the operation of incidental causes, and that one of the great annoyances in London has been one of its greatest benefits. I do not mean by this that founderies and steam-engines should not be made to consume their own smoke, but that a reasonable quantity of the sulphurous annoyance is a positive benefit, and, combined with superior cleanliness, street-draining, and dry floors and roofs, completely excludes the probability of any future visits from the most terrible of human calamities.

The streets of London formerly excluded a free circulation of air, unless when high winds were prevalent. The houses almost met and touched at the roofs, each story projecting over the one beneath it, and all being built of wood. Then the streets were so narrow and crooked, that an old writer inquires whether they were not built before carts were invented, as wheelbarrows could only be used in them. The houses were totally unlike each other in size and ornament, a hovel standing next to a palace. In one thing only they agreed

namely, their overhanging floors; so that the people in the garrets could almost shake hands across from window to window. The stories, or rooms, too, were so low, that a very tall man with his hat on could hardly stand upright. The lower floors of the houses seem to have been the bare earth, on which it is probable the rushes were trodden in, and always in a state of decomposition, while dirt was every where observable. In the reign of James the First, the precincts of the Court were so filthy, that the ladies who were in the habit of attending it, complained of bringing away with them certain insects which are now found only on the backs of the filthiest poor. I mean no disparagement to this most high and mighty prince as a native of a northern country, the inhabitants of which are said not to be famous for too many ablutions. I believe dirty habits to have been prevalent among our city ances tors, and a distinguishing trait in the character of the "good old times." Then there were few or no sinks or sewers in the great city; and every species of filth accumulated in corners, and even in the middle of the streets. Coal was only partially used as late as 1640; it caused the fashionable inhabitants of the court part of town to let slip many a jeer at the city people on account of their adopting it. Old Fish street is distinguished, on the authority of Sir W. Davenant, for its peculiarities of every kind, and all seem favourable to the spread of disease, if not to its generation. The effluvia of the sick in one house could hardly escape into the atmosphere without a portion of it entering into another. Thus the ravages of the pestilence were more extended than would otherwise have been the case; and Death doubled the victims which were daily borne to the gulfs that had been dug to receive the festering remains of his victims.

This recalls to my recollection the localities noticed for their connexion with these fatal visitations, for some cause or other, but principally as the scenes where the hurried rite of sepulture was performed by the living with fear

and trembling, lest during labour at the common grave,

"The buried drag the buriers." This is by no means partial exaggeration. "One cart," says a recorder of the great plague, "going up Shoreditch, was forsaken of the drivers, or being left to one man to drive, he died in the street, and the horses going on overthrew the cart, and left the bodies, some thrown out here, some there, in a dismal manner. Another cart was, it seems, found in the great pit in Finsbury-fields, the driver being dead, or having gone and abandoned it, and the horses running too near, the cart fell in, and drew the horses in also." The driver's whip being found among the bodies, it is most natural to suppose he died among them. One must, however admire the dauntless spirit

of the survivors; for dead bodies never remained unburied for want of persons to fulfil the last offices of humanity.

HOW TO CATCH A PANTHER. Ox my recovery, finding that I still persisted in my favourite pursuit, the governor good naturedly resolved on gratifying me with the spectacle of a panther-hunt. Accompanied by his sons, we rode out early in the morning to an extensive plain, in the centre of which was a jungle; into this the Vaqueiros had succeeded in driving, on the previous night, a large panther, preparatory to the morning's sport. We took our station on an eminence which commanded a view of the entire field. The loud barking of the dogs, the wild cries of the huntsmen as they galloped round the skirts of the jungle cheering on the dogs, formed an animated scene. Aroused in his lair, the panther, furious with rage, sprang forth to meet its enemies. The Vaqueiro nearest to the point from which he had issued

ed, "that I can be such an ideot as, for nearly two hours, to have overlooked so obvious an expedient! Is it possible that I, a man of unquestionable courage, as this very spot can attest, should have been, for an instant, in doubt about the means of escaping from an exposure of my cut up-an event I never should have found nerve to encounter! Is it possible that I, a rational being, should have failed to think of the very thing that would have occurred to any ass in London, at the first blush of the af fair!-What! shall I put down my four-inhand? Shall I send my racers to Tattersall's? Shall I break up my snug little establishment at Kilburn, and confess to my pretty Julia that it is all up with me? Shall I tell my friends that I can squander no more thousands, for the reason that I have no more thousands to squan

der? No, no; thank my stars, I have too much courage to submit to that." It were needless to state in explicit terms what was the nature of the remedy intended to be employed by this “rational being," for the many ills which this "man of unquestionable courage" was too courageous to encounter; but, having settled the question entirely to his own satisfaction, he, upon his way home, suddenly put his handkerchief to his cheek, went into an apothecary's shop, complained of a racking tooth-ache, and purchased a phial of laudanum.

quisite that money could purchase-and certainly they had cost dearly to the tavern-keepers whom he promised to pay for them. He was celebrated in the Fives Court: and if he was unable to lick young Belcher, who. from constant practice, had the advantage of him; or the boxing coal-heaver, who was his superior in weight; he had done all that could be required of a gentleman-he had tried. He was the best shot in England. Twice did he brush the morning dew from the grass of Mary-le-bone Fields in his way to Chalk Farm; and on both occasions had he the good fortune to kill his man. The first was Major O'Blaze, a scoundrel, as Sir Harry justly termed him, who had seduced the Baronet's mistress; the other, a Mr. Hardacre, a plain country squire, scoundrel for eloping with his wife. Here who had the temerity to call Sir Harry a again had Sir Harry done all that could be required of a gentleman. But these were not his only claims to that title. In a single night he won seventeen thousand pounds of a young Lackbrain, a tyro in those matters, at hazard. Finding that by selling his commission in the dragoons, drawing upon his agent to the utmost farthing in his hands, and pledging his pictures, his books, and the lease of his chambers in Albany, young Lackbrain could raise no more than nine thousand pounds towards the amount of his loss; he generously, with Courage and Rationality! How differently respect to the remaining sum, declared that may the qualities implied by these terms be as he should hold it unbecoming a friend and a understood! Had Sir Harry presumed to rush gentleman to press for its immediate payment, uninvited into the presence of the Prince ReMr. Lackbrain might set his mind perfectly at gent, his courage would have been stigmatized ease about it, upon signing a bond, for princi- as daring and reckless impudence, his rationapal and interest, to be payable in twelve-nay, lity as sheer insanity. But Sir Harry would with a fortune of eighteen thousand a-year. even fifteen months. Sir Harry began life not have done that: he was too well-bred a man: his consciousness of the respect due Having somewhat of a turn for arithmetic, he from a subject to his prince; his deference to at once perceived that it would be imprudent the forms of civilized society; nay, the very to spend more than twenty-thousand, and wise- consideration of what was due from man even ly resolved to limit his expenditure by that unto MAN, would have warned him of the imsum, or twenty-five at the utmost. But cir propriety of committing so gross an outrage as cumstances, which might have baffled the that! This is a mere passing remark, which, wisest calculations, so ordered it, that thirty as it is not necessarily connected with the subwas usually much nearer the mark; and how-ject, the reader may consider, or not, at his ever extraordinary it may appear to persons discretion. unaccustomed to investigate such matters, the consequence of these continued discrepancies between the income and the outgoing, was, that one fine sun-shiny morning his debts were found to amount to 102,3577. 18s. 93d.-a very complicated and ugly-looking row of figures whilst his assets were gracefully pictured forth by that simple and elegantly-formed symbol (0) representing NOUGHT. To use his own emphatic phrase, Sir Harry Highflyer found himself "most magnanimously dished." It was towards the close of the London season of 1817, that he made this wonderful discovery. What was to be done? He could not at the moment determine. Free air and solitude were necessary to put his mind into a fit state for reflection: so, calling for his hat and gloves, he sallied forth, and avoiding dear Bond-street, and all the more frequented avenues, he crossed St. Alban's-street, sidled through St. James's Market, felt his way along a dirty, dingy defile, called Swallow-street, and after passing through sundry dark passages on the north of Oxford-street, he, at length, found himself in the Mary-le-bone fields. There he sauntered about for some time, but to no purSIR HARRY HIGHFLYER: pose: one-hundred-and-two thousand and odd A Suicide's Last Carouse. pounds, shilling, and pence, were not to be WHO was better known about town, or who picked up in the Mary-le-bone fields; and what knew the town better, than Sir Harry High- else under Heaven could set him afloat again! flyer? He was, as the phrase is, in every The more he thought, the more desperate did thing, and the best man at every thing-su- his position appear to him. But there is an preme in each pursuit that had fashion for its old French proverb that tells us that à force sanction. He was a member of the Four-in- de chercher l'on trouve; and so it happened to hand-Club; and it was universally admitted Sir Harry: for by dint of thinking and walkthat no gentleman could drive his own coach-ing, and walking and thinking, he all at once man to Salt Hill in better style. He was the found himself on the identical spot where he best dresser in London; and ruined three had killed his friends Hardacre and Major tailors by the disinterested readiness with which O'Blaze. Here, by that fine operation of the he exhibited their choicest productions on his mind, called the association of ideas, an easy own well-formed person. His dinners were and certain mode of arranging his affairs octhe most récherches, his wines the most ex- curred to him. "Is it possible!" he exclaim

now advanced to the attack. He exhibited a beautiful sight, whirling in the air his lasso, and urging forward with the spur the spirited little steed on which he was mounted, whose dilated nostrils, fiery eyeball, and erect mane, proclaimed his instinctive dread of the enemy in his front. The panther crouched in the act to spring on his advancing foe, but he was forestalled by the well-skilled assailant, who, at the distance of twenty yards, threw his lasso with unerring aim. Scarcely had it left his

hand before the well-trained horse wheeled round and flew across the plain, dragging after him the already disabled panther; for with such beautiful precision had the lasso been thrown, that the fore-paw of the animal was fairly strapped to its neck. The whole party now dashed forward to be in at the death. The Vaqueiro, slackening his pace, gradually shortened the length of the cord till he brought his enemy within a few yards of him, and then, in less time than I can narrate it, I saw him leap from his saddle, his broad knife gleam in the morning sunbeam, and with the rapidity of lightning leaving the cloud, it was buried in the heart of the panther. I was highly delighted with this noble and manly sport, which required at once wonderful dexterity and uncommon self-possession.

Upon reaching home, Sir Harry gave strict charge to Laurent, his valet, not to come to him till he heard his bell, nor to allow any one to interrupt him. He then went into his dressing-room, where he passed nearly two hours in writing letters.

He drew the phial from his pocket!!

"The ruling passion strong in death," he held it up to the light; and muttering "Bright as a ruby-a cursed bore though, for all that," he twisted out the cork, put the poison to his lips, and-there was a tap at the dressing-room door.

"Who the devil's that? Did'nt I give positive orders that no one should disturb me?"

"Beg you pardon, Sare, but it grow late; you remember Milord Dashmore dine wiz you, and you not tell me how many I will order

dinner for."

This reminded him that he had invited Lord Dashmore and a party of friends to dinner for that very day. They'll look upon it as a sneaking piece of business," thought he, "if I leave them in the lurch in this way: a few hours later will make no difference, and I shan't be in worse condition for my journey, for a dozen bumpers of claret." Then added, aloud, to Laurent, "Order for twelve, and af terwards come and help me to dress." "Mr. Maxwell is here, Sare; shall you see him?" "Maxwell!" thought Sir Harry; "what whimsy has brought him here! I thought I had given him a surfeit of me, at his last visit, a twelvemonth ago. Beg Mr. Maxwell to walk up."

Mr. Maxwell was the son of a clergyman who died of a very odd complaint-a broken heart for the loss of his wife-leaving this son an orphan at the age of two years. As this is an age at which a young gentleman is not very well qualified to take care of himself, the

late Baronet, Sir Harry's father, thought that he might do it much better for him; and, acting upon this suggestion, took him into his own house. Little Master Maxwell and the Baronet's son being of nearly the same age, they were instructed by the same masters, sent at the same time to Westminster, and, afterwards, entered at the same college at Cambridge. Upon their return from College, Sir Robert Highflyer gave young Maxwell the choice of a profession; but as the young gentleman entertained an unbounded dislike of law, physic, and divinity, the army, and the navy, it seemed a matter of some difficulty how to provide for him.

""Tis a lucky thing for you, Tom," said Sir Robert, "that I have the command of four votes, and can, therefore, obtain from ministers any thing in reason I choose to ask."

Now, although I am certain these were the very words used by Sir Robert, I never, for the soul of me, could understand what he meant by having the command of four votes; still less, by the most industrious application of my reasoning faculties, could I ever perceive the remotest connexion between such a possession, and a certain degree of influence with ministers, which he considered as its obvious and natural consequence. However, such was his expression.

Young Maxwell's inclinations tending towards politics, a valuable appointment in the office of the for the department, was procured for him, with an understanding that, at the first convenient opportunity, he should have a seat in Parliament. Shortly after this, Sir Robert died; and his son succeeded to the title and estates.

Between the latter and Maxwell as close a friendship had always existed as could exist between two persons whose habits and occupations were diametrically opposed; and Maxwell, presuming, perhaps, too far upon this, (and entertaining, as he did, a stupid notion that he could not better evince his gratitude to the patron to whom he owed every thing, than by endeavouring, to the utmost of his power, to save his son from ruin,) would sometimes take the liberty to make it too evident to Sir Harry that the system of extravagance he pursued must inevitably lead to the utter destruction of his fortune. The result of one of these remonstrances was an intimation from Sir Harry, that unless Mr. Maxwell could find more amusing topics for conversation, his absence from Street would be particularly desirable; and Mr. Maxwell not being able to comply with the first condition, he very coolly availed himself of the other. The Baronet's astonishment at the present visit is thus accounted for.

"Ha! Tom, how do? devilish glad to see you," said Sir Harry, holding out one hand, and with the other depositing the little phial of laudanum, together with the letters he had written, in a drawer of his dressing-table; devilish glad, 'pon my soul I am; but no preaching, Tom."

"No, no; my preaching days are over." "So much the better; and I'm glad to find that, in that respect at least, I have succeeded in reforming you, whatever may have been your success in

He suddenly stoppedwalked towards the window-returned and continued." No matter-Stay and dine with me; you will meet Dashmore, and Leslie, and Colonel D, and-in short, all friends of yours."

To tell you the truth, Highflyer, I came for the purpose of billeting myself upon you. I met Leslie this morning, who told me of your party. And-" (here he made an unaccountable pause,)-"But since I am here, will you allow me to send a message to my servant to bring my things here to dress? 'Twill save me the trouble of going home."

[blocks in formation]

that, considering the terms on which they had stood for some time past, all this was very strange.

By the time Laurent had finished dressing his master, Maxwell's servant arrived; and Sir Harry descended to the drawing-room to receive his guests, leaving his friend to perform the duties of the toilette.

[ocr errors]

"Another pin, Ward," said Maxwell to his servant. Plague on the inventor of this tie! it requires as many pins as the frock of a boarding-school romp." But Ward having exhausted all the pins in Sir Harry's cushion, his master opened first one drawer and then another, till coming to that in which the Baronet had deposited the letters, he was astonished at perceiving that the letter on the top of the pile was addressed to Lord Dashmore, who was to be of the party that very afternoon, and the next beneath to himself! In addition to these were letters addressed to his agent, to his solicitor, and to his aunt, Lady Mary whom he had offended beyond all hope of pardon. "This is very strange!" He continued his search. "Good God!-Ward-I have no farther occasion for you: you may go.-Unless I am at home by one, you needn't- -yes-you had better be in waiting for me- -that's all.

Stay-call a hackney-coach immediatelydon't bring it to the door, but wait with it at the corner of the street."

(To be continued.)

MY LAST NIGHT'S DREAM.

BY MRS. JEWSBURY.

"Money brings honour, friends, conquest, and realms." Paradise Regained. "The love of money is the root of all evil.”—St. Paul. I HAVE Wealth, and I have learned to loathe life; I am young, and I have envied age and decrepitude; I have wife and child, yet my eye and heart are evil towards them: think me neither fiend nor madman-I am only POOR. To many that word conveys little notion of wretchedness and degradation. Sages and moralists ofttimes, in their speeches, associate poverty and cheerfulness; poverty and content: but sages and moralists lie. When I was rich (once I was so) I talked lightly too; I did not love money then, for I boasted and believed that I esteemed my fellows for their own sakes, and was by them esteemed for mine. I thought that happiness was independent of circumstances; that affection, refinement, and famè, depended solely on qualities, and were never affected by the accidents of condition and herein I thought as a fool. There came a time when I was made to think differently; and it came suddenly. My wealth, that I deemed a rock, proved to be a mound of earth overhanging a precipice; it tottered, crumbled, fell. Since then the lust of gold has taken possession of my soul; for now I know its worth. I know now the power that will move the human spirit to deeds the vilest, and deeds in their effects the most splendid. I know now the principle that exerts over human destiny the influence that fable attributed to the planets. I perceive now the super-eminent worth of that which, when possessed, I considered merely useful." I perceive that, without it, every blessing is, in some sense, cursed. That which you love must bow to labour; that which is lovely may be bought and sold for destruction; genius, that vanity terms the lord, necessity makes the hireling of Mammon; refinement is the child, not of drudgery, but of leisure; and the hunger after fame is turned, by poverty, into the hunger after bread. If you are old and rich, you may wrap your palsied limbs in the furs of emperors; if learned and rich, purchase the libraries of nations; if a lover and rich, you may deck your mistress in the spoils of the east, and worship with more than words; if a friend, you may imitate the bounty of nature; if a philanthropist, the benignity of God. The poor and old; learned and poor; a lover and poor; a friend and philanthropist, yet poor-turn aside and die; it is less painful

than to live. Again: untempted affluence may enlarge on the dignity of our nature; it is only when living in the depths and drinking of the dregs of poverty, that we know the unimaginable evils bound up in the human heart; -the meanness, the grossness, the pride, the hate, the envy, and the cruelty, that, like serpents in a nest, lie hushed and still when fed, but writhe, and sting, and hiss, when aroused by the fury of want! My Last Night's Dream! Had one told me, years ago, when presiding as master over an elegant, nay, a sumptuous mansion, a centre to devoted and gifted friends; playing the good Samaritan abroad, and the good centurion among my dependants at home; had one told me then, that avarice would ever so seize upon my vitals, that even in my sleep my dreams should be of sins committed for gold, of scenes that the love of lucre has desolated like a plague; that I,-in my prosperity, the gentle, the kind, the loving,-should be fitted, by my waking thoughts, to become an actor in those dreams! what a whited sepulchre is man! I dreamt, then, but it was not one continuous and unbroken vision, but a dream of episodes, connected only by the spirit that reigned throughout, and the person who appeared in every

[ocr errors]

scene.

Why,

And at first I seemed removed to another world, far different and far distant from any country I had ever seen. Towns and villages there were; and glittering under a brighter sun, and skies more intensely beautiful, than ours; but they were not like the buildings of northern climes and matured civilization; they rather resembled the shining structures called up by an enchanter's wand, to be inhabited by a soft and indolent people, prone to simple pleasures, and acquainted only with inartificial pursuits. The character of the surrounding country was also different from any I had previously beheld. The earth teemed with vegetation, even to luxuriant wildness; fruits and flowers, the jewelry of nature, met the eye and solicited the hand in the most splendid varieties of form and colour; fragrance exhaled from magnificent and unknown trees; and birds, beautiful as winged blossoms, darted through the air or fluttered amongst the branches. The land had remained the paradise it was, but its mountains and rivers contained gold, and the Spaniard sought it. Then the native song was no longer heard at nightfall; the flowers that once enwreathed the cottage were trodden down; the maize grounds lay desolate; the once pleasant and prolonged repast was snatched in haste and silence; there was heard a sound of groans, execrations, and the clank of fetters, instead of melody and the voice of content; and the Indians were bowed down, body, soul, and spirit, to labour, and servitude, and sorrow. I saw one, a young Cacique, bolder in heart than his brethren; he fled with the remnant of his tribe to a fastness among the mountains, and there, for some time, remained in safety, except for remembrance, happy. But one day the Spaniard stole upon him when he was separated from his people. Ancoana, for so he called his beautiful bride, was sleeping beside him; and he leaned over her, shading her slumbers from the noontide sun, with flowers and branches plucked from the forest trees. He had despoiled himself of all his ornaments since compelled to be a fugitive, yet, true to that impulse of the heart, which longs to adorn whatsoever it loves, Ancoana was still adorned as if his fortune was still at its height. But the Spaniard found them, one sleeping, and both secure. He was a Hidalgos who led the way; a man, when amongst his own countrymen, jealous of his honour and proud of his integri ty; but the land of the Cacique yielded gold, "and the gold of that land was good." He stripped Ancoana of her ornaments; I saw his eye sparkle as he tore them rudely from her person; and when he found that the pearls which adorned her hair were strung upon the braids, he shred the long dark locks from her

[ocr errors]

head; then, chaining husband and wife to- was their guest, their commander, and their gether, he drove them forwards to his encamp-king. Death was in their streets and in their ment. And the form and the fashion of that man were like my own! I shivered in my sleep; but the vision, though it faded away, gave place to another.

I beheld now a city, strong and glorious, fortified with walls and bulwarks; on one side of them there flowed a river, and the whole was placed in a fair and fruitful plain. But the city was environed with a besieging army, the show of whose faces witnessed even more against them than all their artillery and weapons of war. The inhabitants had often been called upon to capitulate; but they were a city of merchants, and were loth, till it was too late, to buy their lives, and bribe off their enemies with their treasures. Their hopes were upheld, too, by a consciousness of the bravery of their garrison; and they bade the enemy as bold a defiance, two hours before the city was taken, as on the first morning of the siege. But there was treachery at the council board-treachery in one of the strong towers; and, on a sudden, at noon-day, there was heard a great and lamentable cry, the cry of a whole people stricken at once with despair; for the enemy had gained access, and were pouring through the gates with license to destroy to the uttermost. But in a short space after that first great cry, there was no firing heard, for the executions were all silent stabbing. Multitudes, indeed, fled through the squares and streets, but the soldiers followed, butchering without mercy, driving them on even beyond the city, to the river's edge, where the desperate wretches threw themselves into the water, and there, having none to help them, only escaped one death to fall into another. But on the opposite side the river was a fort held by a division of the besieging army, who, not being heated with slaughter, were willing to give, or, rather, sell quarter to such as could swim across the river. Nay, having the command of a few small boats, the officers gave these soldiers permission to make what booty they could, by fetching off some of the wretched burghers who stood on the opposite banks in crowds, expecting every moment to be either drowned or murdered. And now I beheld the value of wealth. It was not the helplessness of age or infancy; not the influence of rank or wisdom; not the imploring words of beauty, that weighed with the soldiers in affording their help; but silver, and gold and jewels! Every individual citizen loved, and would have saved his life-would have given for its purchase all that he possessed; but only the rich had possessions wherewith to offer a ransom, and so the poor perished. I saw a man whose mind was a treasure that could not be "gotten for gold;" he had enriched by his discoveries in science, not his own nation merely, but his species; yet was he "a poor wise man ;" he had nothing to offer but his knowledge; so the soldiers carried off in his stead, a possessor of riches and ignorance. By nightfall, the plunder and slaughter within the city were complete; and then fire being set to the four quarters, all human sounds were hushed in the roar of the flames; the bodies of the slain were wrapped in a fiery winding-sheet, and the smoke of that city ascended up to heaven, a never dying memorial of the power of avarice. For I saw, standing afar off, in the camp of the enemy, the traitor, who, for a bribe, had delivered up his trust; for money had sold his brethren to slaughter, and himself to everlasting shame-and the form and the fashion of that man was like my

own.

The scene of my dream again changed, but the spirit of it remained the same. I beheld another city, strong and bulwarked like the last; like that, too, beleaguered. But neither within nor without the walls was there heard the wild stir of warfare; for the besiegers were content to wait the slow but certain effects of a blockade, and the besieged were not called upon to fight but to endure. Famine

houses; but he slew his victims silently, and without bloodshed. The voice of complaint was not heard, for complaint required strength, and the strong were bowed to the feebleness of infancy. The prayer, the curse, and the command were alike whispered; for the strong pined away, stricken through with hunger. The daughters of delicacy became cruel as the ostriches of the wilderness; the tongue of the sucking child cleaved to the roof of his mouth for thirst; the young children asked bread, and no man broke unto them. Whatsoever could be taken within the lips as food, was sought for as hid treasure. Reptiles were more than rubies, and the epicure gloated over viands that once his dogs would have abhorred. Life again was bought and soldfood of any kind could only be purchased by the rich-so the poor looked on and died. I witnessed a contest between two citizens for the possession of a small bird. One, a father, desired it for a dying child; the other, that he might assuage for a little while the pangs of his own hunger. The former offered all he had, a hundred crowns; the latter doubled that sum, and the bird became his. I saw the father steal slowly away,-unaided, unpitied, uncomplaining; I saw the successful candidate depart also-his languid step quickened for a moment by the joy of possession, and his haggard features gleaming with transitory triumph. The day after, the city was relieved; and then I beheld him who had parted with his last morsel of food (yet he too, was a father, and he, too, was an hungered,) for money, that to him was more than wife or child-more even than his own existence-he lay stretched on the threshold of his own door, exhausted beyond the power of restoration, though sustenance was now at hand; yet, even in the agonies of death, grasping close the price of the bird, the two hundred crowns-and the form and the fashion of that man was like my own.

I dreamt yet more; but the remaining portion of my vision was broken and confused, cut off from the main current,-wild, distorted, fitful. Nevertheless, in all, I beheld myself the chief actor in scenes of strife and sorrow; still the slave of gold-still led on by the demon of avarice: yet, when I awoke and looked around me, I almost wished to sleep again and forget that I was POOR!

[blocks in formation]

A

And then in busy courts he played his part, In the mad strife for rivalry and power, Where man betrays his brother, and the heart

Hot jealousies and cankering cares devour:

Then went he to the field, and in the hour

Of the fierce battle, stood where thousands fell:

Then, tired of war, passed to the forests hoar, Bidding pride, pomp, and toiling man farewell,

careless hunter free, among the woods to dwell.

And years went on, and little thought had he,

Dreaming his life like summer hours away,

Until, as resting 'neath a forest tree,
In the deep beauty of an autumn day,
Back to his heart affection found its way.
What was it that his heart could thus un-
lock,

In the hushed forest where alone he lay,

Rousing him up as by a lightning-shock, And calling forth his tears like waters from the

rock.

Was it some tone-some wild bird's carol low

Loved 'mid the beauty of the years gone by?

Was it a passing shadow that could throw Back the wronged heart through wastes of memory?

Some flower, whose fragrant scent or fairy dye

Recalled each lovely and forgotten thing? Or the still forest's solemn majesty,

His

Which deeply brooding round him, thus could bring

warm affections up from their immortal spring?

Whate'er it was--beauty, or sound, or shade,

It was a spell with sudden power that wrought,

And open to remorse his soul was laid, Wrung by the might of agonizing thought; Back to his heart all riven ties were brought,

Tears that had flowed unheeded-kindness spurned,

And patient meekness that had murmured not,

Till his frame shook, his aching temples burned,

And towards all holy things his wakened spirit yearned.

"O God!" he cried, and the still forest sent

Its silence to his soul,-" wherefore to me Were given the beautiful-the innocent! Why woman's love, which, even like the

sea,

Can not be fathomed-why the spirits free Of happy children, as a blessed light Within the dungeon of humanity

Oh! wherefore were they given me, when the blight

Of my cold heart did blast and darken their delight?

My wife! the years are past that might have been

All love, and faith, and sunshine-thou hast stood

Alone, alone for years-I have not seen

Thee in the glory of thy womanhood Amid thy children, thou serenely good! Their songs thou hear'st within thy place of sighs,

Their merry feet pacing thy solitude

But all thy smiles are hollow mockerics, And secret tears make dim the lustre of thine eyes!

Hast thou in prayer remember'd me?—hast thou,

Morning and night, knelt down in prayer
for me-

Sinful and abject wanderer, that did bow
Myself for other worship!-Can it be,
Oh God! that those pure prayers went up
to thee?

I will arise, and to my children's home Go forth once more, and with them bend my

[blocks in formation]
« SebelumnyaLanjutkan »