ruins, embowered in venerable oaks. Before the led me. I only now begin to feel my own capaentrance of the castle was a group of figures look-city to emulate the masters of my noble art. And ing up with an expression of terror, at a bright this will bring gold to me-gold! sordid ore, dug luminous light on the opposite side of the heavens, from the dark caverns of the earth; and yet withfrom where the full round moon was slowly rising. out it, my genius may become a self-consuming It was not a meteor, but rather a fixed-glowing lamp-my spirit rust in neglect and forgetfulness, radiance, like the red glare which the light from a and I sink, in an unknown, unhonored grave, one large fire throws on the sky at night; and in the of the many victims to the early struggles of centre were several glittering orbs like balls of genius." fire. The unnatural light fell on the figures, and The stranger entered the room. He was a illumined each countenance with its unearthly middle aged man, with an expression of the deepsplendor. There was a woman, past the prime est melancholy in his countenance. He gazed on of life, with features of a haughty and regal beauty, the picture some moments in silence-then turning which time had lightly touched: her stately to the artist, he saidfigure was drawn up to its fullest height, and her "Ah, my young friend, you have succeeded to head proudly raised, to gaze on the supernatural admiration. That picture commemorates the fate light; her countenance expressed terror, but it of one as gentle, as lovely as your own love, and was not the terror of a weak and yielding mind- one doomed to the same fate by an ambitious and it rather seemed as if her spirit scorned itself that overbearing mother. Nay-start not-your hisfear should fall on it, and dim, its proud confidence. tory is not unknown to me; the many tongues of Beside her stood a gentleman, whose hair was gossip have already informed me of all worth silvered o'er with years; his venerable counte- knowing in your past life. Complete the picture, nance expressed awe, reverence and fear, and his and then find means to let the father of your behands were clasped, as if invoking the protection trothed see it, and hear the story which it is deof heaven. In front was a woman kneeling, and signed to illustrate. The outline of that story you weeping, as she clung to the drapery of the prin- shall have. It will be a warning to him to shield cipal figure. the drooping flower, and bind up the bruised heart. This was a girl of a beauty as rare as it was Tell him, should he doubt the truth of that superexquisite; yet deep and agonizing was the expres-natural warning, that there are those now livsion of suffering on that young face. As one ing who can bear witness to it. Ah! would— looked on it, they involuntarily bent the ear to would that it were not true, beloved Beatrice," he hear the low wail of anguish which seemed to continued, passionately gazing on the fair face of burst from the half-parted lips. The face was the principal figure in the group-" would that pale and appeared worn with suffering, yet nothing thou wert now beside me, as in days of yore, my could destroy the beauty of the regular Grecian eyes gazing on thy breathing loveliness, and not features, and the drooping grace of that charming on that shadow, which but mocks me with a refigure. Her arms were crossed on her bosom, in semblance, that is, and yet is not her I once loved an attitude of hopeless dejection, and her long hair, so wildly." falling around her person, half-veiled its exquisite symmetry. Her head was partly turned from the light, as if it were a sight she could not command sufficient firmness to look on; and there was a breathing terror in the expression of the whole countenance, which at once enlisted the sympathies of the beholder, and created a desire to fathom its source. The artist stood off and looked on his work, and the triumph of successful genius shone in his eye, and flushed his dark cheek. There was a pause of some moments, when, turning to Grey, he said, "Adieu, young manyou have my thanks for your endeavors to please me: here is the stipulated price of your labor, and may it be but the commencement of that prosperity which should reward the exertions of such talent as you possess. The stranger and the wanderer leaves with you his thanks, and his earnest prayers for your future welfare. I go hence in a few days, but shall return within the month, and claim the picture. In the meantime use it, to"Ah, if this should win me a name," he mut-gether with this manuscript, for the furtherance tered, "I should then see my way before me, and of your own views as you may think proper." would no longer feel myself presumptuous in ask- He placed a few leaves of paper, much discolored ing her to share my humble lot. Ah, Lucile, had by time, into the hand of the painter, together Ia hope of future fortune, I would not thus tamely with a well-filled purse, and immediately desubmit to the harsh mandate of your unrelenting parted. parent." Grey placed himself beside the window, and "This is beautiful," he continued, gazing with read the wild story the manuscript contained: and enthusiasm on the picture. ""Tis an effort wor-as the waning light of day fell on the picture, the thy of me: never before did I feel the full power figures seemed to start into life before him. of that glorious talent with which heaven has gift- It thus commenced; "The prediction is fulfilled! For years it has to crush my heart, because the blood that gave hung over that devoted house, and now has fallen life to it was said to be of a nobler stream than his? to crush the loveliest of its daughters!-There is Nobler! man's nobility! and he-he was God's!" an old castle in a remote part of Ireland, which "My daughter, hush those frantic wordsdescended from generation to generation of bold your husband waits.' 'Call him not my husand hardy barons, till at length the only scion of band!' said the poor girl, passionately. 'What that noble race was a feeble girl. Her mother care I for husband now? He knew I loved him was a woman of imperious temper, who mourned not-I told him so that my whole soul was dethat the name of a high race should become ex-voted to another: what cared he for my passionate tinct, and determined, in her own mind, that exalted appealing? The heiress with her broad lands and rank should compensate her daughter for the sac- full coffers was all he sought;—he has them; but rifice of her paternal name: but in vain did she my heart he never had he never shall have-a seek to fill the mind of her gentle yielding child few more hours and it will be chilled, and cold, with her aspiring views. Beatrice loved one of and at rest.' humble birth-the son of one of her father's tenants. They had been reared together, and she had loved him ere yet she knew love's name; but her hand was sought by one who thought he honored her by his choice. The father was passive-the mother forced her to become the bride of him her heart loathed. "It was the evening after her inauspicious marriage, that her nurse was standing beside her young lady, placing the bridal wreath on her head for a feast which was that night to be held in her father's halls. Suddenly a bright light fell on the person of the bride, and the old woman shrieked "The prediction-the prediction: this night shall the glories of this ancient house pass away!' "Then that group gathered before the castle, and the father repeated the words of an ancient seer, who had foretold the downfall of his house. The prediction ran thus "When the proud eagle shall rend the breast of its young, then shall the red light warn the house of its fall, and the lovely and beloved shall find peace where alone it may be found?' "" I cannot-no I cannot look on it," said Beatrice, as she turned shuddering away; that red light seems to scorch my heart and sear my eyeballs. Mother-oh, mother! let me hide myself from my doom-throw your arms around me, that I may feel myself in safety, as, when a little child, I clung to you for protection. Hold me to your heart, mother, and do not let the red demon take me from you-your love can be a shield for your child—a mother's love is too pure and hallowed a circle, for his demon hate to step within its influence, to drag me from your arms.' "My child-my daughter-this is folly, madness-come within and take something to compose yourself." "Yes, mother, I will come in, but mark my words: as I cross the threshold it is the last time I shall cross it alone. When next the shadows of the oaks of my fathers fall on me, I shall be borne out-struck-maddened-blasted by the curse of ambition. Oh, mother! mother! was it well of thee "One week from that night she was borne to her grave, and the wail of anguish rose loudly to heaven for the fate of the broken-hearted. Her father sank at once beneath the blow. Her lord sought a new bride;, him she had loved became a wanderer; and the mother, whose haughty spirit had wrought the fulfilment of the prophecy, died of that searing, lasting grief, which stern hearts sometimes feel." Grey arose, and walked several times across the floor, stopping each time to gaze on the picture, which possessed a new interest in his eyes. ""Tis a strange story," he muttered, “and may be useful. It may remind him, when he looks on the pale cheek of Lucile, that such a doom may fall on her. I will try it at all events.” There was a pavilion in the garden of Gen. Montressor, which had been fitted up under the superintendence of his daughter. It was a light and elegant structure, situated in a grove of orange and citron trees: the interior was decorated with the earlier efforts of Grey's pencil. It contained an organ of fine tone, and at the hour of vespers its solemn melody had been wont to fill the air, accompanied by the sweet voice of Lucile singing the hymn to the virgin; for, though not a Catholic, there was to her romantic mind a charm in some of the observances of that imposing faith; and never did the pure soul of that young girl more deeply feel its immortality, than when breathing in that solemn hour the thrilling words of appeal to the mother of him who wept over a lost world. It was that still and dreamy hour, and once It was "Once more, dear, adored Lucile, do we meet ;" murmured a low, deep voice;" and you have suffered much, beloved one-you are pale, and tears are on your cheek." "But they are not tears of sorrow," said Lucile, more Lucile was in her favorite retreat. The orange boughs were parted-a shower of the first time since her illness that she had ven- snowy leaves fell at her feet, and starting forward, tured thither. She had feared that the associa-Lucile was clasped to the bosom of her early tions of the hour and the spot might overcome her playmate. newly acquired tranquillity; but she had a letter from Grey, which had reached her that morning, and she felt that the sweet and tender memories linked with the pavilion, would no longer oppress her heart with a sense of its present desolation, by contrasting it with the happy past. A faint rose-raising her soft dark eyes, whose long lashes were tinge was once more on her cheek, and hope again threw her magic halo over the future-the hope of a young and loving heart, which could not believe that time would fail to soften her father in favor of her noble Sidney; yet had she been of a suspicious temper, a new cause of uneasiness might have been found in the conduct of her cousin. During the weeks of her convalescence, Victor had watched over her as a brother. It was his "And did it not, Lucile?" asked Sidney, earhand which gathered the freshest flowers-his nestly. "Heaven and your own heart are my voice which read the poem or the story, that wiled witnesses that I am incapable of such neglect: I, away the tedious hours of languor and weariness, who hovered around you night after night, watchand Lucile was deeply grateful; but it was not ing the light that gleamed from your sick chamber, thus with Victor. He had yielded almost uncon- and when day dawned feared to ask your attensciously to a passion for the gentle and uncom-dants how you had passed those still and lonely plaining being thus thrown on his sympathy. A passion which was destined to become fatal to his peace and her own. He reproached himself with bitterness, but each day found him more deeply enthralled, and all his thoughts were given to the possibility of winning the love of his fair cousin from the poor and insignificant Grey. A change had indeed "come o'er the spirit of his dream" since the evening of his arrival. He came full of high and honorable intentions; the generosity of a youthful spirit; but spite of his own resolves he cousin he kindly offered to become the medium of loved, and what love is not selfish? We may lav-communication between us.” heavy with the dews of excited feeling. "Ah, Sidney, how I have wished for this hour, and grew heart-sick when I thought it would never come. During these long, long weeks, when I lay on a restless and feverish couch, I in vain looked for some token from you-some assurance that I was still fondly remembered. Ah, thoughtless one! did such an assurance come?" hours, lest the answer should extinguish all hope. I could not enter those walls from which I had been once expelled, with little show of courtesy or affection; but I could send my soul to your sick couch, and in the anguish of my spirit raise my heart to heaven in prayers for your recovery. This I have done and not this alone. When assured by your physician that the delirium of fever was past, I daily found means to send a line by your waiting maid; and after the arrival of your ish wealth with a prodigal hand, or, in a moment "What! Victor?" exclaimed Lucile.." He of thoughtless folly, waste the wages hardly won, brought me one letter-only one; and he it was but who is willing to yield to another the affec- who commented on your neglect, and contrasted tions of those they love? The heart acknowledges it with the fond affection with which I lingered no prior right. Where so much love is given we over each line from you. Surely Victor could not fancy that we have a right to claim some portion thus have acted without a motive." in return. Thus it was with Victor: all things were in his favor, save that little rebellious heart which still clung with woman's faith to its early love. Yet he did not despair. Time-her father's wishes—would eventually triumph over her ill-placed affection; and in the interim he might linger by her side, and offer his homage at the shrine of her beauty, without molestation from his rival. Selfish thought! yet true to a lover's nature. And Lucile was again in that sanctuary, sacred to the recollections of the past, but no sound of music floated on the hushed and breathless eve. Her head was bent forward-her lips apart-her ear listening for that step which had so often brushed the dew from the pathway that led to her retreat. "No-he could not-he did not," said Sidney, in a deep, stern tone," and 'tis as I feared: the integrity of your cousin is not proof against the combined charms of your person and fortune. He sees me poor, unfriended, struggling for an existence even-and he feels that it were far better for you to forget your unworldly dream of love, and, wedding him, live in the splendor in which you have been reared, than mar your fortunes by linking them with mine. I see, I feel it all—I have felt it long pressing on my heart with the weight of despair. What, you! the spoiled and flattered beauty, whose wishes are laws to those around you-whose looks are watched by a train of menials prompt to execute each bidding, before it has scarcely time to shape itself in words,—you wed a nameless, houseless, pennyless man!-one too, cursed with a genius-proverbially the most | boughs had scarcely closed over his retreating luckless, reckless race on earth-why there is folly, figure, when Victor stood before her. madness in the thought-presumptuous that I am to dream of such a misalliance. No, Miss Montressor, if you would be happy, drug your memory into forgetfulness of the past: in the airy castles that imagination loves to build, place some other image--that of your cousin, if you will, for he is handsome as a god---and though he has been treacherous to his trust in one instance, he may not prove so again. He may become worthy of you at least he is your father's choice, and there will be no sacrifice in accepting him, save of a heart that adores you: a heart which has suffered your image to come between me and my bright dream of future fame; yet that heart can bid you forget me, if 'tis necessary to your happiness to do So. "Cruel, cruel Sidney!" said the weeping girl. "Have I merited reproach? The effort for forgetfulness shall not be wanting, at least on my part, if such is the language you can use toward me." In an instant Sidney was beside her, with her hand clasped in his, imploring forgiveness. "You are out late, ma petite cousin," said he, gaily. "I have sought you in many places which are wont to be gladdened by your presence, but they knew you not, and I have wandered around your spirit's shrine like the ghosts of departed pleasures around the heart they once made joyous, but you came not, and I fortunately remembered the pavilion. It has hitherto been as a sealed book to me-may I enter and survey the wonders it contains?" "If it will give you pleasure to do so," said the lady, coldly. Victor felt the change in her tone, and knew not to what to ascribe it, but he entered, and looked around. "These-books, drawings, flowers, music-a very pretty assortment; and-let me see-this dim twilight scarcely allows one to judge, but you have also some pretty specimens of painting: the productions of your own pencil I presume.” "No-I seldom draw, and very imperfectly. They are those of "— "Ah, I understand-of Grey. And you rise from your sick bed, Lucile, to come to this spot, "Pardon me, Lucile-pardon me. My haugh- which is consecrated to his image, to draw the past ty and irritated spirit should not pour its bitter-closer to your breast. That past which you are ness on you, I know full well; but my lot is a bound by every duty to endeavor to forget. Even hard one to bear. Condemned to loneliness---your womanly pride is bowed before this neglectmisery---wasting my heart in vain regrets, and ful lover, who in your hours of suffering was forvainer aspirations for that future which may not getful of what caused your cheek to pale, and the be for me---happiness, affection within my reach, pulses of life to grow faint. Is this well?" yet I dare not grasp them, lest in so doing I make "Victor," said Lucile, "why speak to me thus? the wretchedness of her I love beyond my own ex-I have seen Sidney within the hour—learned your istence. Oh, Lucile! is it not a fate worse than treachery-for what softer name can I give it?— that of Tantalus of old? Yet, dearest one, withdraw not your affection from me; for without it life has no object. Without your smile, even fame, the flattering breath of thousands, would be valueless. Look on me, dearest girl, and say that my hasty words are forgiven." and now I ask you how you could so recklessly increase the anguish which was consuming my spirit? You who vowed to further my wishes as far as lay in your power-why, why have you done this?" "Because," said Victor, throwing himself before "Ah, you know full well that your voice never her, "because I adore you! I came to you with petitions in vain. Yet I am distressed at the con-high and honorable intent, yet in the first hour I duct of my cousin. He knew of the arrival of saw you I learned to love: yet was I not a traitor your splendid picture, and the strange story con- to my vow. I used all my influence with your nected with it. He volunteered to show it to my father, until I found that 'twas worse than useless. father, and I can now fathom the cause of his re- Then, then I yielded to my passion. I saw you lentless mood when he came to me, and reproached separated from Grey, with no rational hope of a me for clinging with such tenacity to my predi- reunion. I felt that to win you from the contemlection for you. He said that such foolery was plation of the past, might not be an impossible beneath you and himself-he, fortunately, was not task. I suppressed his letters-taught you to. a moonstruck lover, or a wandering maniac; and think him forgetful-heartless-and my apology the servants already had his orders to convey it to is the deepest, wildest passion, that ever man felt your abode forthwith. But hark! there is a foot- for woman." step---leave me, leave me now---for worlds I would not have our interview discovered.” "Meet me at the same hour to-morrow evening. I have much to say to you." "I will-I will---but now leave me." Lucile arose, but he caught her dress. "Leave me not, Lucile! Say but one wordturn on me but one look from that averted face, to assure me that I have not forever cursed myself in your opinion. Speak, I conjure you, but one A hasty adieu was murmured, and the parted word." "That word will not be one of hope, Mr. Montressor," said she, in a low, struggling voice. JOURNAL "I cannot forget that where I have confided, OF A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS, CAVES AND SPRINGS my confidence has been betrayed. Let this be the last time such language is addressed to me: with or without the consent of my father, I am in soul and spirit the betrothed of another: and the turf must lie on a broken heart before that heart can give to him a rival. Adieu!" And in another moment she was gone. Victor threw himself on the seat she had left, and covered his face with his hands. "Lost-ruined-undone! Madman that I have been, to hope for success through such black treachery." A low, scornful laugh reached his ears: he started up and beheld the priest. "Did I not tell you so?" said he. "You were fairly warned, and might have guarded your heart from the contagion of worldliness—but no! you braved the danger; and the fair lands, and yon fairer girl, have proved temptations too strong for you-ha! ha!'' "Fiend!" muttered the excited youth, "how dare you, at such a moment, speak to me thus?" "Dare!" repeated the other, scornfully. "Pooh, I am no child, to be frightened by an angry brow or a fierce tone. Smooth your ruffled feelings, good Victor-persevere in the pursuit of your cousin, and all her wealth shall be thine." OF VIRGINIA. By a New-Englander. TO CHARLES E. SHERMAN, Esq. of Mobile, Ala. These fragments of a Diary, kept during a tour made in his society, are respectfully and affectionately inscribed, by his friend and fellow-traveller, THE AUTHOR. -Virginia! Yet I own I love thee still, although no son of thine! Wilde. Departure from White Sulphur. Shoemates and Bedmates. Hot Springs, (Bath Co.) July 13, 1835. Left White Sulphur and all its gaieties, pleasures and attractions, after dinner yesterday, in the midst of a grateful shower of rain, the first we had experienced for many days. This did not prevent the "Her wealth! I wish it not; I ask it not Think you, sir priest, that the sordid love of lucre bows me before the shrine of my cousin? No-assembling of a numerous concourse to exchange the I am not yet so despicable-her love were worth it all." "So you may think now, good Victor; but so you will not long think. What is the love of the fairest of womankind to the many gratifications that gold can buy? Without it, we are nothingwith it, every thing is at our command. It can purchase all things save forgetfulness: the want of it makes Grey an outcast, and made me, what you see me, a blighted ruin." of a visiter is an event in the routine of life here,—and usual salutations with us, at parting. The going away excites much more interest and greater manifestation of feeling than similar occurrences are apt to do in the more varied and busier walks of life. This was observable as long as our coach was in sight of the springs, and the waving of kerchiefs was the last glimpse we could catch of White Sulphur. We reached a tavern kept by a man yclept Shoemate, at nine o'clock in the evening, and found a supper of venison steaks, hot coffee, corn cakes, and sweet butter, a delightful terminus to our ride. Here we found There was a momentary wildness in the eyes of about twenty people, awaiting accommodations for the the speaker, but it soon passed away; and drawing night, and our quarters were somewhat crowded, as you himself up with much dignity, he continued— may suppose; but I should have done very well, but "I taunt you often, because bitterness has be- that the occupation of my bed was vigorously disputed come my most familiar mood, even with those I with me by sundry pertinacious fleas and the contest love; but I now only tell you the truth which my turned out of my own quarters, I wrapped myself in a waxed so warm towards midnight, that rather than be experience has taught me. Seek to rise above the cloak and took the outside, leaving Messieurs, the multitude, and they will bow before you-ask combatants on the other part, full possession of the inwealth of the gods, and you need wish for no other terior. This arrangement being made, I enjoyed the gift with which you are not already endowed: it appointments of Master Shoemate for my accommodais the 'open sesame' to all hearts. Ponder my tion, as well as could have been anticipated, until about advice well, young man, for it is not lightly 3, A. M., when the blast of a stageman's horn broke my given." slumbers, and transferred them, (after some fuss,) to He turned away, and before Victor could reply, the stage coach. Towards sunrise we came within the outline of his dark robes only was visible, as the mountains, where the same turnpike so often mensight of this place, and as we passed through a gap in he threaded his way through the serpentine avenuetioned is smooth and straight, the white cottage that of limes. forms the centre of the Hot Springs buildings, struck VOL. IV.-65 |