his own choosing, who should unite to a pedigree as At times, indeed, he might be a little grave and noble as that of the Howards, all qualifications which thoughtful, especially at such times as he heard menshould fit him to represent the house into which he lion made of the promise or success of this or that should be adopted; and who should be willing to drop scion of some noble house; but it was only within his own paternal name and bearings, how ancient his own family circle, and to his most familiar friends, and noble soever, in order to adopt the style and the that he was wont to open his heart, and complain of arms of Fitz-Henry.

his ill-fortune, at being the first childless father of his Proud by nature, by blood, and by education-race-for so, in his contempt for the poor girls, whom though with a clear and honorable pride-he had been he still, strange contradiction! loved fondly and rendered a thousand times prouder and more haughty affectionately, he was accustomed in his dark hours by the very circumstances which seemed to threaten to style himself; as if forsooth an heir male were the a downfall to the fortunes of his house—his house, only offspring worthy to be called the child of such a which had survived such desperate reverses; which house. had come out of every trial, like pure gold, the better Though he was fond, and gentle, and at times even and the brighter from the furnace-his house, which tender to his motherless daughters-for, to do him neither the ruin of friendly monarchs, nor the per- justice, he never suffered a symptom of his disapsecutions of hostile monarchs, nor the neglect of un- pointment and disgust to break out to their annoygrateful monarchs, had been able to shake, any more ance, yet was there no gleam of paternal satisfaction than the autumnal blasts, or the frosts of winter, had in his sad eye, no touch of paternal pride in his vexed availed to uproot the oak trees of his park, coeval heart, as he looked upon their graceful forms, and with his name.

noted their growing beauties. In the midst of health and wealth, honor and good And yet they were a pair of whom the haughtiest esteem, with an affectionate family, and a devoted potentate on earth might have been proud, and with household around him, Allan Fitz-Henry fancied him- justice. self a most unhappy man-perhaps the most unhappy Blanche and Agnes Fitz-Henry were at this time of mankind.

in their eighteenth and seventeenth years—but one Alas! was it to punish such vain, such sinful, such summer having passed between their birihs, and senseless, and inordinate repinings?

their mother having died within a few hours after the Who shall presume to scrutinize the judgments, latter saw the light. or pry into the secrets of the Inscrutable ?

They were, indeed, as lovely girls as the sun of This much alone is certain, that ere he was gathered merry England shone upon; and in those days it was to his fathers, Allan Fitz-Henry might, and that not still merry England, and famous then as now for the unjustly, have termed himself that, which now, in rare beauty of its women, whether in the first dawn the very wantonness of pampered and insatiate suc- of girlhood, or in the full-blown flush of feminine cess he swore that he was daily—the most unhappy maturity. of the sons of men.

Both tall, above the middle height of women, both For to calamities so dreadful as might have dis- exquisitely formed, with figures delicate and slender, turbed the reason of the strongest minded, remorse yet full withal, and voluptuously rounded, with the was added, so just, so terrible, so overwhelming, long taper hands, the small and shapely feet and that men actually marveled how he lived on and ankles, the swan-like necks, and classic heads gracewas not insane.

fully set on, which are held to denote, in all countries, But I must not anticipate.

the predominance of gentle blood; when seen at a It was a short time after the failure of the Duke distance, and judged by the person only, it would of Monmouth's weak and ungrateful attempt at have been almost impossible to distinguish the elder revolution, a short time after the conclusion of the from the younger sister. merciless and bloody butcheries of that disgrace to But look upon them face to face, and never, in all the English ermine, the ferocious Jefferies, that the respects, were two girls of kindred race so entirely incidents occurred, which I learned first on the dissimilar. The elder, Blanche, was, as her name evening subsequent to my discovery in the fatal denotes, though ladies' names are oftentimes missummer-house.

nomers, a genuine English blonde. Her abundant At this time Allan Fitz-Henry—it was a singular and beautiful hair, trained to float down upon her proof, by the way, of the hereditary pride of this old snowy shoulders in silky masses of unstudied curls, Norman race, that having numbered among them so was of the lightest golden brown. There was not a many friends and counsellors of monarchs, no one of shade of red in its hues, although her complexion was their number had been found willing to accept titular of that peculiarly dazzling character which is comhonors, holding it a higher thing to be the premier mon to red-haired persons; yet when the sun shone gentleman than the junior peer of England-At this on its glistening waves, so brilliantly did the golden time, I say, Allan Fitz-Henry was a man of some light flash from it, that you might almost have forty-five or fifty years, well built and handsome, of imagined there was a circlet of living glory above courtly air and dignified presence; nor must it be her clear white brow. imagined that in his fancied grievances he forgot to Her eyebrows and eyelashes were many shades support the character of his family, or that he carried darker than her hair, relieving her face altogether his griefs abroad with him into the world.

from that charge of insipidity which is so often, and

for the most part so truly, brought against fair-haired | like damask roses seen through the medium of a goldand fair-featured beauties. The eyes themselves, tinted window-pane. which those long lashes shrouded, were of the deepest Her brows and lashes were as black as night, but, violet blue; so deep, that at first sight you would strange to say, the eyes that flashed from beneath have deemed them black, but for the soft and humid them with an almost painful splendor, were of a clear, languor which is never seen in eyes of that color. deep azure, less dark than those of the fairer sister, The rest of her features were as near as possible giving a singular and wild character to her whole to the Grecian model, except that there was a face, and affecting the style of her beauty, but slight depression where the nose joins the brow, whether for the better or the worse it was for those who breaking that perfectly straight line of the classical admired or shunned—and there were who took both face, which, however beautiful to the statue, is less parts—to determine. Her face was rounder and aitractive in life than the irregular outline of the fuller than her sister's, and, in fact, this was true of northern countenance.

her whole person so much so that she was often Her mouth, with the exception of-perhaps I should mistaken for the elder-her features were less regular, raiher say in conjunction with—her eyes, was the her nose having a slight tendency to that form which most lovely and expressive feature in her face. has no name in our language, but which charmed all There were twin dimples at its corners; yet was beholders in Roxana, as retroussie. Her mouth was not its expression one of habitual mirth, but of tender as warm, as soft, as sweetly dimpled, but it was not ness and softness rather, unmixed, although an free from that expression which Blanche's lacked anchorite might have been pardoned the wish to altogether, and might have been blamed as too wooing press his lips to its voluptuous curve, with the and luxurious. slightest expression of sensuality.

Such were the various characters of the sisters' Her complexion was, as I have said, dazzlingly personal appearance—the characters of their mental brilliant; but it was the brilliance of the lily rather attributes were as distinctly marked, and as widely than of the rose, though at the least emotion, whether different. of pain or pleasure, the eloquent blood would rush, Blanche was all gentleness and moderation from like the morning's glow over some snow-crowned her very cradle-a delicate and tender child, smiling Alp, across cheek, brow, and neck, and bosom, and always, but rarely laughing; never boisterous or vanish thence so rapidly, that ere you should have loud even in her childish plays. And as she grew time to say, nay, even to think,

older, this character became more definite, and was "Look! look how beautiful, 't was fled."

more strongly observed; she was a pensive, tranquil

creature, not melancholy, much less sad—for she Such was the elder beauty, the destined heiress of was awake to all that was beautiful or grand, all that the ancient house, the promised mother of a line was sweet or gentle in the face of nature, or in the of sons, who should perpetuate the name and hand history of man; and there was, perhaps, more real down the principles of the Fitz-Henries to far distant happiness concealed under her calm exterior, than ages. Such were the musings of her father, is often to be found under the wilder mirth of merrier Proh! caca mens mortalium!

beings. Ever ready to yield her wishes to those of

her friends or companions, many persons imagined - and at such times alone, if ever, a sort of doubtful that she had little will, and no fixed wishes, or de

pride would come to swell his hope, whispering that liberate aspirations-passionless and pure as the lily for such a creature, no man, however high or haughty, of the vale, many supposed that she was cold and but would be willing to renounce the pride of birth, heartless. Oh! ignorant! not to remember that the eren untempted by the demesnes of Ditton-in-the- hearts of the fiercest volcanos boil still beneath a head Dale, and many another lordly manor coupled to the of snow; and that it is even in the calmest and most motime-honored name of Fitz-Henry.

derate characters that passion once enkindled burns Her sister, Agnes, though not less beautiful than fierce, perennial and unquenchable! Thus far, howBlanche-and there were those who insisted that she ever, had she advanced into the flower of fair maidenwas more so—was as different from her, in all but the hood, undisturbed by any warmer dream than devoted general resemblance of figure and carriage, as night affection toward her parent, whose wayward griet'she is from morning, or autumn from early summer-time. could understand if she could not appreciate, and

Her ringlets, not less profuse than Blanche's, and whom she strove by every gentle wile to wean from clustering in closer and more mazy curls, were as his morbid fancies; and earnest love toward her back as the raven's wing, and, like the feathers of sister, whom she, indeed, almost adored-perhaps the wild bird, were lighted up when the sun played on adored the more from the very difference of their them with a sort of purplish and metallic gloss, that de- minds, and for her very imperfections. fes alike the pen of the writer, and the painter's For Agnes was all gay vivacity, and petulance, percil to depict to the eye.

and fire—so that her young companions, who sporHer complexion, though soft and delicate, w of tively named Blanche the icicle, had christened her the very darkest hue that is ever seen in persons of the sunbeam; and, in truth, if the first name were ill unmixed European blood; so dark that the very blood chosen, the second seemed to be an inspiration; for which would mantle to her cheek at times in burning like a sunbeam that touched nothing but to illuminate zubes, was shaded, as it were, with a darker hue, I it, like a sunbeam she played with all things, smiled

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on all things in their turn-like a sunbeam she brought If it were so, however, there were no outward inmirth with her presence, and after her departure, left dications that such was the case; for never were a double gloom behind her.

there seen two sisters more united and affectionateMore dazzling than Blanche, she made her impres- nor would it have been easy to say on which side sion at first sight, and so long as the skies were clear, the balance of kindness preponderated. For if and the atmosphere unruffled, the sunbeam would Blanche was ever the first to cede to her sister's continue to gild, to charm, to be worshiped. But wishes, and the last, in any momentary disappointif the time of darkness and affliction came, the gay ment or annoyance, to speak one quick or unkind sunbeam held aloof, while the poor icicle, melted word, so was Agnes, with her expressive features, from its seeming coldness, was ever ready to weep and flashing eye, and ready, tameless wit, prompt as for the sorrows of those who had neglected her in the light to avenge the slightest reflection cast on days of their happiness.

Blanche's tranquillity and coldness; and if at times a Unused to yield, high-spirited when crossed, yet quick word or sharp retort broke from her lips, and carrying off even her stubbornness and quick temper called a tear to the eye of her calmer sister, not a by the brilliancy, the wit, the lively and bold audacity moment would elapse before she would cast herself which she cast around them, Agnes ruled in her upon her neck and weep her sincere contrition, and circle an imperious and despotic queen; while her be for hours an altered being; until her natural spirit slaves, even as they trembled before her half sportive would prevail, and she would be again the wild, but emphatic frown, did not suspect the sceptre of mirthful madcap, whose very faults could call forth no the tyrant beneath the spell of the enchantress. keener reproach than a grave and thoughtful smile

Agnes, in one word, was the idol of the rich and from the lips of those who loved her the most dearly, gay; Blanche was the saint of the poor, the lowly, Sad were the daughters of Allan Fitz-Henrythe sick, and those who mourn.

daughters whom not a peer in England but would It may be that the peculiarity of her position, the have regarded as the brightest gems of his coronets, neglect which she had always experienced from her as the pride and ornament of his house; but whom, father, and mediately from the hirelings of the house by a strange anomaly, their own father, full as he hold, ever prompt to pander to the worst feelings of was of warm affections, and kindly inclinations, their superiors—the consciousness that bor co- never looked upon but with a secret feeling of dis heiress with her sister, she was doomed to sink into content and disappointment, that they were not other the insignificance of an undowered and uncared than they were: and with a half confessed convic for girl, had tended in some degree to form the tion, that fair as they were, tender, and loving, grace character which Agnes had ever borne, and which ful, accomplished, delicate and noble-minded, b alone she had displayed, until the period when my could have borne to lay them both in the cold grave tale commences.

so that a son could be given to the house, in exchang It may be that the consciousness of wrong endured, for their lost loveliness. had hardened a heart naturally soft and tender, and In outward demeanor, however, he was to h rendered it unyielding and rebellious--it may be that children all that a father should be; a little querulo injustice, endured at the hands of hirelings in early at times, perhaps, and irritable, but fond, though n years, had engendered a spirit of resistance, and doting, and considerate; and I have wandered great armed her mind and quickened her tongue against from my intention, if any thing that I have said h the world, which, as she fancied, wronged her. It been construed to signify that there existed the slig! may be, more than all, that a secret, perhaps an un- est estrangement between the father and his childr conscious jealousy of her sister's superior advantages, -for had Allan Fitz-Henry but suspected the pos not in the wretched sense of worldly wealth or posi- bility of such a thing, he had torn the false pride, li tion, but of the love and reverence of friends and a venomous weed, from his heart, and had beer kindred, had embittered her young soul, and caused wiser and a happier man. In his case it was i her to cast over it a veil of light and wild demeanor, blindness of the heart that caused its partial hardne of free speech, and daring mirth, which had by de- but events were at hand, that should flood it with grees grown into habits, and become part and parcel clearest light, and melt it to more than woma of her nature.


[To be continu


On, in thy mission ! 'T is a holy power

That which thou wieldest o'er a people's heart : And wastes of mind, that never knew a flower,

Bloom now and brighten, 'neath thy magic art. Hearthstones are cheerful that were chill before;

And softened beams, like light that melteth through The stained glass of old cathedrals, pour

New Orleans, October 1, 1817.

Stream upon stream of beauty. All that's true,
All that is brave and beautiful, 't is thine-

High office, high and holy! thus to shed,
Sun-like, and sole, in shadow or in shine,

Thoughts that bedew and rouse minds cold and de
Starting the pulse that stirred not. This is thine !
Be proudly humble : 't is a power divine !


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We mere men of the world, with no principle- | bling myself to ascertain whether Doctors Johnson a very old-fashioned and cumbersome thing-should and Campbell are wrong, or whether Pope is wrong, be on our guard lest, fancying him on his last legs, or whether the reviewer is right or wrong, at this

we insult, or otherwise maltreat some poor devil of point or at that, let me succinctly state what is the - a genius at the very instant of his putting his foot on truth on the topics at issue.

the iop round of his ladder of triumph. It is a com- And first; the same principles, in all cases, govern mon trick with these fellows, when on the point of all verse. What is true in English is true in Greek. attaining some long-cherished end, to sink themselves Secondly; in a series of lines, if one line contains into the deepest possible abyss of seeming despair, more syllables than the law of the verse demands, for no other purpose than that of increasing the space and if, nevertheless, this line is pronounced in the of success through which they have made up their same time, upon the whole, as the rest of the lines, minds immediately to soar.

then this line suggests celerity--on account of the All that the man of genius demands for his exalta- the Greek liexameter the dactylic lines—those most

increased rapidity of enunciation required. Thus in tion is moral matter in motion. It makes no differ- abounding in dactyls—serve best to convey the idea ence whither tends the motion-whether for him or against him—and it is absolutely of no consequence slowness.

of rapid motion. The spondaic lines convey that of what is the matter."

“Thirdly; it is a gross mistake to suppose that In Colton's "American Review” for October. 1815, the Greek dactylic line is “the model in this matter” a gentleman, well known for his scholarship, has a -the matter of the English Alexandrine. The Greek

forcible paper on “ The Scotch School of Philosophy dactylic line is of the same number of feet-bars+ and Criticism." But although the paper is “forcible," beats-pulsations as the ordinary dactylic-spondaic

it presents the most singular admixture of error and lines among which it occurs. But the Alexandrine truth-the one dovetailed into the other, after a is longer by one foot-by one pulsation--than the fashion which is novel, to say the least of it. Were pentameters among which it arises. For its pronunI to designate in a few words what the whole article ciation it demands more time, and therefore, ceteris deroonstrated, I should say "the folly of not begin- paribus, it would well serve to convey the impresning at the beginning-of neglecting the giant Mouli- sion of length, or duration, and thus, indirectly, of neau's advice to his friend Ram.” Here is a passage slowness. I say ceteris paribus. But, by varying from the essay in question :

conditions, we can effect a total change in the impres" The Doctors (Campbell and Johnson) both charge sion conveyed. When the idea of slowness is conPope with error and inconsistency :-error in sup veyed by the Alexandrine, it is not conveyed by any powing that in English, of metrical lines unequal slower enunciation of syllables--that is to say, it is in the number of syllables and pronounced in equal not directly conveyed—but indirectly, through the times, the longer suggests celerity (this being the priociple of the Alexandrine :)—inconsistency, in that idea of length in the whole line. Now, if we wish Pope himself uses the same contrivance to convey to convey, by means of an Alexandrine, the impresthe contrary idea of slowness. But why in English? sion of velocity, we readily do so by giving rapidity It is not and cannot be disputed that, in the Hexameter verse of the Greeks and Latins—which is the

to our enunciation of the syllables composing the model in this matter-what is distinguished as the several feet. To effect this, however, we must have dactylic line' was uniformly applied to express more syllables, or we shall get through the whole velocity. How was it to do so? Simply from the fact of being pronounced in an equal time with, while line too quickly for the intended time. To get more containing a greater number of syllables or bars' syllables, all we have to do, is to use, in place of than the ordinary or average measure; as, on the iambuses, what our prosodies call anapæsts* Thus, aher hand, the spondaic line, composed of the mini

in the line, mum number, was, upon the same principle, used to indicate slowness.' So, too, of the Alexandrine in

Flies o'er the unbending corn and skims along the main, English versification. No, says Campbell, there is a diference: the Alexandrine is not in fact, like the the syllables “the unbendform an anapæst and, deylic line, pronounced in the common time. But dor, this alter the principle? What is the rationale demanding unusual rapidity of enunciation, in order

Metre, whether the classical hexameter or the that we may get them in in the ordinary time of an Enzish heroic ?"

* I use the prosodial word " anapæsi,” merely because I have written an essay on the “Rationale of here I have no space to show what the reviewer will Perse,” in which the whole topic is surveyed ab admit I have distinctly shown in the essay referred to

viz: that the additional syllable introduced, does not make imtio, and with reference to general and immutable the foot an anapæsı, or the equivalent of an anapæst, and prisciples. To this essay (which will soon appear) that, if it did, it would spoil the line. On this topic, and on

all tópics connected with verse, there is not a prosody in exIrrier Mr. Bristed. In the meantime, without trou- istence which is not a mere jumble of the grossest error.

iambus, serve to suggest celerity. By the elision of If any ambitious man have a fancy to revolutionize, e in the, as is customary,, the whole of the intended at one effort, the universal world of human thought, effect is lost; for th'unbend is nothing more than the human opinion, and human sentiment, the opportunity usual iambus. In a word, wherever an Alexandrine is his own--the road to immortal renown lies straight, expresses celerity, we shall find it to contain one or open, and unencumbered before him. All that he has more anapæsts—the more anapasts, the more decided to do is to write and publish a very little book. Its the impression. But the tendency of the Alexandrine title should be simplema few plain words—"My consisting merely of the usual iambuses, is to convey Heart Laid Bare.” But—this liule book must be slowness-although it conveys this idea feebly, on true to its title. account of conveying it indirectly. It follows, from Now, is it not very singular that, with the rabid what I have said, that the common pentameter, inter- thirst for notoriety which distinguishes so many of spersed with anapests, would better convey celerity mankind-so many, too, who care not a fig what is than the Alexandrine interspersed with them in a thought of them after death, there should not be found similar degree ;-and it unquestionably does.

one man having sufficient hardihood to write this little

book? To write, I say. There are ten thousand To converse well, we need the cool tact of talent men who, if the book were once written, would laugh -to talk well, the glowing abandon of genius. at the notion of being disturbed by its publication Men of very high genius, however, talk at one time during their life, and who could not even conceive very well, at another very ill :-well, when they why they should object to its being published after have full time, full scope, and a sympathetic listener: their death. But to write it—there is the rub. No -ill, when they fear interruption and are annoyed man dare write it. No man ever will dare write it. by the impossibility of exhausting the topic during No man could write it, even if he dared. The paper that particular talk. The partial genius is flashy, would shrivel and blaze at every touch of the fiery pen. scrappy. The true genius shudders at incompleteness-imperfection-and usually prefers silence to For all the rhetorician's rules saying the something which is not every thing that Teach nothing but to name the tools.-HUDIBRAS. should be said. He is so filled with his theme that he What these oft-quoted lines go to show is, that a is dumb, first from not knowing how to begin, where falsity in verse will travel faster and endure longer there seems eternally beginning behind beginning, than a falsity in prose. The man who would sneer and secondly from perceiving his true end at so in- or stare at a silly proposition nakedly put, will admit finite a distance. Sometimes, dashing into a subject, that “there is a good deal in that” when “that" is he blunders, hesitates, stops short, sticks fast, and, the point of an epigram shot into the ear. The rhebecause he has been overwhelmed by the rush and torician's rules--if they are rules-teach him not only multiplicity of his thoughts, his hearers sneer at his to name his tools, but to use his tools, the capacity of inability to think. Such a man finds his proper ele- his tools—their extent-their limit; and from an exment in those “great occasions" which confound amination of the nature of the tools-(an examination and prostrate the general intellect.

forced on him by their constant presence)—force him, Nevertheless, by his conversation, the influence also, into scrutiny and comprehension of the material of the conversationist upon mankind in general, is on which the tools are employed, and thus, finally, more decided than that of the talker by his talk :- suggest and give birth to new material for new tools. the latter invariably talks to best purpose with his pen. And good conversationists are more rare than Among his eidola of the den, the tribe, the forum, respectable talkers. I know many of the latter; and the theatre, etc., Bacon might well have placed of the former only five or six :-among whom I can the great eidolon of the parlor (or of the wit, as I call to mind, just now, Mr. Willis, Mr. J. T. S. S.- have termed it in one of the previous Marginalia) of Philadelphia, Mr. W. M. R.-—of Petersburg, Va., the idol whose worship blinds man to truth by dazand Mrs. S—d, formerly of New York. Most zling him with the apposite. But what title could people, in conversing, force us to curse our stars

have been invented for that idol which has propathat our lot was not cast among the African nation gated, perhaps, more of gross error than all com. mentioned by Eudoxus—the savages who, having no bined ?—the one, I mean, which demands from its mouths, never opened them, as a matter of course. votaries that they reciprocate cause and effect-reason And yet, is denied mouth, some persons whom I have in a circle-lift themselves from the ground by pulling in my eye would contrive to chatter on still—as up their pantaloons—and carry themselves on thet they do now-through the nose.

own heads, in hand-baskets, from Beersheba to Dan

All-absolutely all the argumentation which I have All in a hot and copper sky

seen on the nature of the soul, or of the Deity, seem The bloody sun at noon

to me nothing but worship of this unnameable idd Just up above the mast did stand,

Pour savoir ce qu'est Dieu, says Bielseld, althoug No bigger than the moon.-COLERIDGE.

nobody listens to the solemn truth, il faut être Dia Is it possible that the poet did not know the appa- même--and to reason about the reason is of all thing rent diameter of the moon to be greater than that of the most unreasonable. At least, he alone is fit the sun?

discuss the topic who perceives at a glance the sanity of its discussion.

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