« ElőzőTovább »
that I meet a Jew in a christian assembly * The substance of his narative was as follows:– -
He was a very respectable man, of a superior education, who had lately come from London ; and with his books, his riches, and a lovely daughter of seventeen had. found a charming retreat on the banks of the Ohio. He had buried the companion of his bosom before he left Europe, and he now knew no pleasure but in the company of his endeared child. She was indeed worthy a parents love. She was surrounded by beauty as a mantle; dis. position threw around her a charin superior to any of the tinselled ‘decorations of the body. No pains had been spared on her education. She could read and speak with fluency several different languages. and her manners charmed every beholder. No wonder, then, that a doating father. whose head had how become sprinkled with grey, should place his whole affection on this only child of his love, especially as he knew no source of happiness beyond this world. : Being a strict Jew, he educated her in the strictest, principles of his religion, and he thought he had presented it with an ornament. - • It was not ing ago thirt his daughter was taken sick. The rose faded from her cheek, her eye. lost its fire, her strength decayed, and it was soon apparent that
the worm of disease was rioting in the
core of her vitals. The father hung over the bed of his daughter with a heart ready to burst with anguish. He often attempted to coaverse with her, but seldom spoke but by the language of tears. He spared no trouble or expense in procuring medical assistance. but no human skill could extract the arrow of death now fixed in her heart.—The father was walking in a small grove near his house, wetting his steps with his tears, when he was sent for by the dying daughter. With a heavy heart he entered the door of the chamber, which he feared would soon be the entrance of death. The was now to take a last farewell of his chill, and his religion gave but a seable hope of meeting her hereafter.’ • * * • * The child grasped the hand of her parent with a death-cold hand. . 'My fa. ther do you love me !” “My child you
to me than the whole world beside " But father, do you love me!” “Why, my child will you give me pain so exquisite : Have I never given you proofs of my love!'. “But my fathet, do you love me !” The father could not answer; the child added, ‘I know, my father, you have ever loved me—you have been the kindest of parents and I tenderly. love you.--Will you grant me one request. O, my father, it is the dy. ing request of your daughter: will you grant it to ‘My dearest child, ask what you will, though, it take every cent of my property, whatever it may be, it shall be granted. I will grant it.’ ‘My dear fathe, I beg you will never again speak against Jesus o' Nazareth !" The father was dumb with astonishment. ‘l know,' continued the dying girl, “I know but little about this Jesus, for I was never taught, But I know Jhat he is a Saviour for he has manifested himself to me since I have been sick, even for the salvation of my soul. I believe Jhe will save me, although I never before loved him. I feel that I am going to him—that I shall ever be with him. And now my father, do not deny me: I e : that you will mere again speak against Jesus of Wazareth l l entreat you to obtain a Testament that tells of him; and I pray yon may know him; and when I am no more, you may bestow on him the love that was formerly mime.” The exertion here overcame the weakness of her feeble body. She stopped; and the father's heart was too full, even for tears. He left the loom in great horror of mind, and ere he could again summon sufficient fortitude, the spirit of his accom. plished daughter had taken its flight, as I trust, to that Saviour, whom he'loved and hononred, without seeing or knowing. The first thing the parent did after committing to the earth his last earthly...joy, was to procure a New Testement. This he read; and taught by the Spirit from above, is now numbered among the meek and humble followers of the 1.0rd. - - \ C. H.
The greatest pleasure of life is love: the greatest treasure is o the greatest possession is health; the greatest ease is sieep ; the greatest medicine is & true friend. - w
know I love you; that you are more dear - - - - - - *
From Chambers Edinburgh Journal. ila riet Bruce.
“to be beloved is all I necd, - - And whom I love I love indeed.” Colekidor.
My fiend Harriet Bruce was a healthy, tall, bold-looking girl; sonewhat too large and vigorous for ge..uine beauty, yet gift. ed with a generous expression, and a rich, perpetual coloring, that would have made any other face stylish and attractive. She was no favorite with the gentlemen; but there was an indescribable something about her appearance and manners which always compelled them to inquire who she was. No person ever talked with her without remembering what she said; and every one criticised what they could not forget. Yet it was not intellect that made her unpopular; had she chosen to affect reckless misanthropy, maudlin sensibility, or any other foppery whereby to distinguish herself, she would have found plenty of admirers and imitators; bit, in her mind, ge. nius was checked by manly philosophy; and she could ill conceal her contempt.o. those who knew talent only by its most common diseascs. The consciousness ol menial power, that lighted up her eye with such a burning spark of pride, and the expression of scorn for ever dancing on her lip corners, ready to embody itsel in sarcasio, was unquestionably the true reason why his splendid creature become the Paria of the ball room. She was a strange sort of Die Vermon—no, she wors not a l)ie váion either—and as I now remember her, I cannot think of a single character, living or imaginary, who she did resemble. She fascinated her enemies, but never Pleased her friends. Pow. er! power and, above all, intellectual power was the constant tream of her ambition. ‘To have been sure of Madame de Stael's reputation, she would have renounced human sympathy, and lived unloving and unbeloved in this.wide world of social happiness—there was such mag. nificence in the idea of sending one's genius abroad, like a spark of electricity, to be active and eternal—defying education in its form, duration, and power! Sometimes I talked of love, and reminded her
l . .
how Madame de Stael hersels had become its, reluctant victim. often philosophised, and always laughed. “Who,” said she, scornfully, “who that
upon same, would be foolish enongh to exchange dominion over n any for the despotism of one l’” Thus Harriet Bruce reasoned, and thus she actually thought; but I knew her better than she knew herself. Her affections were as rich and overflow ing as her mental energ es; and her craving for human sympathy was in
beauty, which, in her, amounted to an intellectual passion. That she would love exclusively and extravagantly, I had no doubt; and my penetration soon singled out an object. At a large party, I. first saw her with George Macdonough, the
and in the full flush of manly beauty. I knew by the carriage of his neck that he wās a Virginian; and the hauteur with which he received adulation attracted my attention, as the pawing of a high mettled horse would have done. His conversation with Harriet seemed at first to be of a soher and learned cast, but on her part it soon became petulant. Now and then I heard some remark which seemed to relate to a transmigration of souls, and a continual rise in intellectual existence.—
savours of New England housc-keeping? how can a Virginian patronise a theory so economical!” lovely girl entered the room; and the young man did not answer Miss Bruce's The stion. “Ah, there is tie beautiful Balin’orean,” said he, “she whom I told you reminded me of that sine engraving of yours, La belle Suisse.’ ” “She is beautiful,” said Harriet, with affected warmth. Her full dark eyes are magnificent—what a pity'it is they are not lighted from within ; that expression alone is wanting to fill the measure of her glory !” The remark was made to an inattentive listener, for Macdonough's whole interest wab absorbed by the new comer. A slight shade passed over Harriet's face—but it was too transient to define the emotion in which it originated; and she smiled as she said, “You had best go and talk with your pow. erful beauty—the body should be where
On this subject she
has felt the gush and the thrill attendant .
direct proportion to that interse love of.
son of a rich southerner, first in his class,”
“Oh,” exclaimed l arriet, “how that idea
At that moment, a very
the spirit is.” “That reproach is too se itself was a very stupid thing. There is
vere,” replied the Virginian. “I meant no originality above ground: every thing no reproach,” she answered: “I have ob that is true is dull, and every thing new is served that beauty is your idol, and I wish false and superficial. But there is no to you to worship it.” “I did not think that in quarrelling with the world—it is a pret Miss Bruce had observed my characterity good world, after all. You must go sufficiently to form any conclusion with hear Mr. Macdonough's opinion of it; I regard to my taste.” The pride of the aim sure he will express it eloquently." protidest girl’in Christendom was roused.” Then you are on good terms now!" said —and there was something indescribably I. She blushed, painfully—excessively
modesty has led you to mistake ; I have
'ing, she turned abruptly from him, and then thought she was intellectually beat.
provoking in her manner, as she answered, “I assure you I think you quite a specimen in your way. “Society is such a bag of polished marbles,' that any thing old is valuable a study as the specimeus of quartz fr. Symmes may bring us. Your
really taken the trouble to observe you.” “Truly, Miss Bruce, you are the most singular girl I ever met,” said the Oslended southerner: “you never did, said, nor thought any thing like another person.” “When a compliment is doubtful, Ches. terfield says, one should always take it; therefore, I am obliged to you, Mr. Macdonough,” replied Harriet. And so say
directed, her attention to me.
During the remainder of the evening, I saw no indications of a reconciliation. Harriet danced but once—Macdonough and La belie Soisse were near her in the set; and they met frequently. The c.c.
and then exchanged some casual remark,
but soon recovered self-command enough to reply, “I asways thought highly of him." I do not know whether my looks express. ed the warning voice my heart was years.
ing to utter; but I am sure the tone of my
assent was reluctant and melancholy. George Macdonough appeared most bill. liantly on that memorable day. Graces. 'and dignified, handsome and talented, he sent a thrill to all hearts alive to the grât. deur of thought, or the beauty of language. During this scene of triumph, I watched the countenance of Harriet Bruce with the keepest interest, and never before did
I see a human face through which the soul
beamed with such intensity.
tiful, beyond any thing I had ever see. Poor Harriet! It was the brightest so in her life, and I love to remember it. Macdonough's room was crowded, and the compliments he received were intos'
gined 1 could sce the sparkles of his eyes
treme nonchalence with which she now cating: but in the midst of it all, I ima.
led me to suspect that he had obtained melt into softness, when he met a glance,
more power over her extraordinary mind
- - - - | than any other individual had ever pos
sessed; but Harriet was no trifler, and I
from Harriet. Her looks betrayed o to my anxious observation; but once
took notice she called him “George,” and suddenly corrected herself with an extra
ordinary confusion. Had my friend i. dulged in habits of girlish trifling, Ishod"
no doubt have playfully alluded to this cit
I frequently observed lights later than he been usual in Mr. Bruce's quiet habitation and when he called to bid me a farewe
a few weeks after commencement, a deep so much secrecy necessary 1” “I now gloom on his countenance, led me to think think it was not really necessary; at all that the pride and apparent indifference of events, that which needs to be concealed my intellectual friend might have surpris-lis wrong. But George's parents wished ed him into love. im to marry wealth, ard he feared to Weeks and months passed on, and lso displease them. He has a moderate for
is dom heard an allusion to the absent Mac-tune of his own, of which he will soon o, donough." her seemed changing for the better. The father this circumstance, and that he perpetual effervesence of her spirit in some feared he should be urged to marry against measure subsided, and the vagaries of her his inclination, my father, in the blindness fancy became less various and startling; of his dotage, consented to our immediate yet there was ever a chastened cheerful.union.” “Then why are you so unhappy!”
ness of manner, and an unsailing flow of I inquired; “you have no doubt that your
Harriet's character. and man-come in possession; when he told my .
thought. - deepened, and at last she could not con
By degrees her seriousness husband will come and claim you?”
“Oh, no! The certificate is in my fa
ceal from me that she was unhappy. I ther's hands, and if it were not, a sense of
attributed it to the illness of her aged fa-honour would lead him here.
ther, for Harriet was motherless, and she cherished her only parent with a do share of love. But when the old man was evidently recovering and her melancholy still increased, I knew there must be another, and a deeper cause. One day, as I stood by her, watching her progress in a
to have him come coldly and reluctantly my heart will break " said she, pressing her hand against her forehead, and weeping bitterly. “How could I forget that they who listen to passion, rather than to reason, must always have a precarious influence on each other " I tried to con
crayon drawing, around which she had sole her; she said nothing, but took a pac
thrown much of her early spirit and freedom, I placed my band affectionately on her shoulder, and, touching her forehead with my lips, said, “You have always told me your thoughts, Harriet—why not tell me what troubles you now f" She continued her task with a quick and hervous movement, and I saw that her eyes were filling with tears. I gently whispered, “is George Macdonough the cause!” She gave one shriek, which sounded as if it made a rent in her very soul and then the torrent of her tears poured forth. lt was long before I ventured to say to her, “Then it is as I feared ' You do love George Macdonough?” She looked in my face with a fixed expression, as she replied, “I ought to love, and honor, and obey him; for he is my husband " | started “Your husband how—when —where were you married!” “At Providence. Do. you remember when I asked you to go with me to Mr. Macdonough's room, and you said, “So, then, you are on good terms now?"—I had been three weeks a wife I’ - * And your father—does he know of it?” “Certainly,” she said; “you know I
kage of letters from her desk, and handed them to me. Their contents proved the mournful prediction of her fears too true. At first, George Macdonough wrote with impatient ardour; then his letters were filled with amusing accounts of the parties given to La belle Suisse, whose fa. ther had come to reside in their neighborhood; then he filled his pages with excel
as he intended ; and finally, when Har
soon, he sent a cold laconic answer, merely stating the time at which he might be expected. Poor Harriet! It was too evident she had thrown away all that made existence joyful. However, I tried to
tience, and untiring love, might regain the
would not deceive him.” “Then why was
ly absent and constrained. An infant
lent reasons for not visiting her as soon.
riet bowed down her pride, and entreated him, if he valued her reputation, to come
sooth her by the idea that gentleness, pa
daughter formed a new bond Öf union, and seemed to be the herald of happier days. ...The young man watched over the little object with the most intense delight, and Harriet's half subdued character seemed entirely softened, in the doating fondness of a mother, and the meek resignation ol a wife loved, “but not enough beloved ;” none would have recognized the proud, sarcastic l l arriet Bruce. I must not dwell minutely on particulars, which I observed closely at the time, and which afterward sunk deep into my memory. once more to take possession of his estate, and prepare it for the reception of his wife and child. His farewell was affectionate, and his frequent letters seemed to restore my imprudent friend to something of her buoyancy of soul. The idea of separation from her father was now her principle source of unhappiness: but that trial was spared her; the imbecili. ty of the affectionate old man daily increased and a few days before his daughter's departure, death relieved him from the expected loneliness. . . . . . . The young husband came, as he had promised; but his manner was colder, and his looks more stern than formerly, though none could say he had failed in the fulfil ment of his duty. larriet never spoke of any change; her manner toward him was obedient and affectionate, but never fond. . I scr romantic visions of human perfection, her proud confidence in her own strength, were gone, and no doub: : she wept bitterly over their mutual rash. ... ness. Knowing as she did, that she was a burthen, taken up merely from a sense of honour, it is not wondersul her very smile had a look of humility and resignition. Their regrets were, how ever, kept carefully concealed; whatever might have been their feelings, both seemed resolved on a system of silent endurance." There was something in this course a thousand
times more affecting than the most pnthe
tic complaints. I shall never forget the anguish I felt when I saw Harriet bid farewell to the home of her childhood —that home where she had ever been an i!ol and an oracle. The lingering prepa. ration of departure, the heart-broken ex
ession, the reluctant step, the 'drooping head, and the desperate resolution with
Young Macdonough departed
'which she at last seized the arm of a hus:
band who loved her not, and who was about to convey her among strangers— hey are all present to me now! slarriet's letter soon spoke of declining Health; and before three years had elapsed she implored me to come to her, if I ever wished to look upon her in this world of shadows.. . . . . " I inmediately obeyed the summons. Things were worse than I had expected. She was evidently very weak, and though she had every thing that wealth could . supply, or politeriess dictate, the balm of kindness never relreshed her weary and Sinking spirit. Mr. Macdonough never spoke harshly; indeed, he seldom spoke at all; but the attentions he paid were so ob. viously from a sense of duty, that they sell like ice-drops on the heart of his suffer. ing wife. I heard no reproaches on either side; but a day seldom passed without some occurrence more or less | painful to my friend. Once, when little |Louisa jumped into her father's aims, as he entered, and eagerly exclaimed, “Do you love me, papa " he kissed her with much fondness, and replied, “Yes I do, my child.” “And mamina too?" inquired the little creature, with a sort of half cm. reating tone, so graceful in childhood; he put her away Iron him, answered coldly,
convulsion in , larriet's face, and in the motion of her hands; but it soon.passed At another time when we were searching of the Edinburg, we discovered on a small open desk the engraving of Labele Suisse, and near it a newspaper giving an account of the marriage of that young Baltimorean whom George had thought so strongly rescinbled the picture. The surprise was so sudden, that Harriet lost the ballance of her scelings.she had hither. to’so well preserved. She rushed out of the room—and it was several hours be: fore I was admitted to her bedside.
Fortunately for my sensitive friend, this mental struggle was too fierce to be of long continuance. The closing scene of her life drew near: and to her it seemed welcome as sleep to the weary. Some: times the movements of reluctant nature were visible in the intense look of love she cast upon her child, and the convulsive
“Certainly, my danghter.” I saw a slight.
in his private library for the latest number ||