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Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 5, No. 22, June, 1860 by Various

Part 3 out of 5

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to some extent. Ask a Roman how this is, and he will answer, as one did to
me the other day,--"_Si dice, e per me veramente mi pare di si_": "They say
so; and as for me, really it seems to me true. If he have not the
_jettatura_, it is very odd that everything he blesses makes _fiasco_. We
all did very well in the campaign of '48 against the Austrians. We were
winning battle after battle, and all was gayety and hope, when suddenly he
blesses the cause, and everything goes to the Devil at once. Nothing
succeeds with anybody or anything when he wishes well to them. See, here
the other day he went to Santa Agnese to have a great festival, and down
goes the floor, and the people are all smashed together. Then he visits the
column to the Madonna in the Piazza di Spagna, and blesses it and the
workmen, and of course one falls from the scaffolding the same day and
kills himself. A week or two ago he arranged to meet the King of Naples at
Porto d'Anzo, and up comes a violent storm and gale that lasts a week;
then another arrangement was made, and then the fracas about the ex-queen
of Spain. Then, again, here was Lord O----- came in the other day from
Albano, being rather unwell; so the Pope sends him his special blessing,
when pop! he dies right off in a twinkling. There is nothing so fatal as
his blessing. We were a great deal better off under Gregory, before he
blessed us. Now, if he hasn't the _jettatura_, what is it that makes
everything turn out at cross purposes with him? For my part, I don't wonder
the workmen at the Column refused to work the other day in raising it,
unless the Pope stayed away."

No less a person than Rachel seems also to have been affected with this
same superstition in regard to the Pope, if we may place confidence in the
strange story which Madame de B----- relates in her memoirs of that
celebrated daughter of Israel. According to her account, Rachel had been on
a visit to her sister, who was quite ill in the Pyrenees, when one day the
disease appeared to take so favorable a turn that Rachel left her to visit
another sister. There she met several friends, and, (to continue the story
in Madame de B-----'s words,) "exhilarated by the good news she had
brought, and the hopes all hastened to build on the change, she began to
chat and laugh quite merrily. In the midst of this exuberant gayety, her
maid broke into the room in a state of great excitement; a fit had come on,
the patient was in much danger, the physician desired Mdlle. Rachel's
immediate presence. Rising with the bound of a wounded tigress, the
_tragedienne_ seemed to seek, bewildered, some cause for the blow that had
fallen thus unexpectedly. Her eye lighted on a rosary blessed by the Pope,
and which she had worn round her arm as a bracelet ever since her visit to
Rome. Without, perhaps, accounting to herself for the belief, she had
attached some talismanic virtue to the beads. Now, however, in the height
of her rage and disappointment, she tore them from her wrist, and, dashing
them to the ground, exclaimed, 'Oh, fatal gift! 'tis thou hast entailed
this curse upon me!' With these words, she sprang out of the room, leaving
every one in mute astonishment at her frantic action." On the 23d of June,
immediately after, the sister died.

And yet the Pope does not at all answer to the accredited portraits of
those who have the Evil Eye. He is fat, smiling, and most pleasant of
aspect, as he is good in heart. But, certainly, nothing has prospered that
he has touched. Read Dumas' description, and see if you should have
recognized the Pope as a _jettatore_. "_Le Jettatore_," says he, "_est
ordinairement pale et maigre. II a un nez en bec de corbin, de gros yeux
qui ont quelque chose de ceux de crapaud, et qu'il recouvre ordinairement
pour les dissimuler d'une paire de lunettes._" But it is the exception that
proves the rule, say those who insist on the _jettatura_ of Pius IX.

Dumas also speaks of a work on the _jettatura_, which I have vainly
endeavored to procure, written by Nicola Valetta; and from what one can
gather from the heads of the chapters which Dumas gives, it must be a very
amusing book. [Footnote: The title of this work is _Cicalata sul Fascino,
volgarmente detto Jettatura_, by Nicola Valetta. It was published more than
fifty years since, and copies are now rare.] These heads are as
follows. They speak for themselves, and show the fear entertained of a
monk. He examines:--

"1. If a man inflicts a more terrible _jettatura_ than a woman?

"2. If he who wears a peruke is more to be feared than he who wears none?

"3. If he who wears spectacles is not more to be feared than he who wears a
peruke?

"4. If he who takes tobacco is not more to be feared than he who wears
spectacles? and if spectacles, peruke, and snuff-box combined do not triple
the force of the _jettatura?_

"5. If the woman _jettatrice_ is more to be feared when she is _enceinte?_

"6. If there is still more to be feared from her when she is certain that
she is not _enceinte?_

"7. If monks are more generally _jettatori_ than other men? and among monks
what order is most to be feared?

"8. At what distance can _jettatura_ be made?

"9. Must it be made in front, or at the side, or behind?

"10. If there are really gestures, sounds of voice, and particular looks,
by which _jettatura_ may be recognized?

"11. If there are prayers which can guaranty us against the _jettatura?_
and if so, whether there are any special prayers to guaranty us against the
_jettatura_ of monks?

"12. Lastly, whether the power of modern talismans is equal to the power of
ancient talismans? and whether the single or the double horn is most
efficacious?"

Luckless, indeed, is he who has the misfortune to possess, or the
reputation of possessing this fatal power. From that time forward the world
flees him, as the water did Thalaba. A curse is on him, and from the very
terror at seeing him accidents are most likely to follow. Keep him from
your children, or they will break their legs, arms, or necks. Look not at
him from your carriage, or it will upset. Let him not see your wife when
she is _enceinte,_ or she will miscarry, or you will have a monster for a
son. Never invite him to a ball, unless you wish to see your chandelier
smash, or the floor give way. Invite him not to dinner, or your mushrooms
will poison you, and your fish will smell. If he wishes you _buon viaggio_,
abandon the journey, if you would return alive. Nor be deceived by his good
manners and kind heart. It is of no avail that he is amiable and good in
all his intentions,--his _jettatura_ is without and beyond his will,--nay,
worse, is contrary to it; for all _jettatura_ goes like dreams, by
contraries. Therefore shudder when he wishes you well, for he can do no
worse thing.

If you do not believe what I tell you, read the wonderful story of Count
----- which is told by Dumas in his "Corriccolo," and at least you will be
amused, if not convinced. Listen, however, to this one historical incident,
and believe it or not, as you please. Ferdinand of Naples died on the night
of the 3d of January, 1825, and was found dead in the morning. The
physicians attributed his death to a stroke of apoplexy; but that was in
consequence of their pretended science and real ignorance. The actual cause
of his death was this,--and if you do not believe it, ask any true
Neapolitan, or Alexander Dumas, if you put more faith in him.--A certain
_canonico,_ named Don Ojori, had for many years desired an audience of
Ferdinand, to present him a certain book, of which Don Ojori was the
author. The King had his good reasons for refusing, for Don Ojori was well
known to be the greatest _jettatore_ in Naples. Finally, on the 2d of
January, the King was persuaded to grant him the desired favor the next
day, much against his will. The _canonico_ came, and after a long audience
left his book and many prayers for the King's prosperity. But Ferdinand did
not survive the interview a whole day; and if this be not proof that Don
Ojori bewitched him to his destruction, what is?

* * * * *

PYTHAGORAS.

Above the petty passions of the crowd
I stand in frozen marble like a god,
Inviolate, and ancient as the moon.
The thing I am, and not the thing Man is,
Fills these blank sockets. Let him moan and die;
For he is dust that shall be laid again:
I know my own creation was divine.
Strewn on the breezy continents I see
The veined shells and glistening scales which once
Enwrapt my being,--husks that had their use;
I brood on all the shapes I must attain
Before I reach the Perfect, which is God,
And dream my dream, and let the rabble go:
For I am of the mountains and the sea,
The deserts, and the caverns in the earth,
The catacombs and fragments of old worlds.

I was a spirit on the mountain-tops,--
A perfume in the valleys,--a simoom
On arid deserts,--a nomadic wind
Roaming the universe,--a tireless Voice.
I was ere Romulus and Remus were;
I was ere Nineveh and Babylon;
I was, and am, and evermore shall be,--
Progressing, never reaching to the end.

A hundred years I trembled in the grass,
The delicate trefoil that muffled warm
A slope on Ida; for a hundred years
Moved in the purple gyre of those dark flowers
The Grecian women strew upon the dead.
Under the earth, in fragrant glooms, I dwelt;
Then in the veins and sinews of a pine
On a lone isle, where, from the Cyclades,
A mighty wind, like a leviathan,
Ploughed through the brine, and from those solitudes
Sent Silence, frightened. To and fro I swayed,
Drawing the sunshine from the stooping clouds.
Suns came and went,--and many a mystic moon,
Orbing and waning,--and fierce meteor,
Leaving its lurid ghost to haunt the night
I heard loud voices by the sounding shore,
The stormy sea-gods,--and from ivory conchs
Wild music; and strange shadows floated by,
Some moaning and some singing. So the years
Clustered about me, till the hand of God
Let down the lightning from a sultry sky,
Splintered the pine and split the iron rock;
And from my odorous prison-house, a bird,
I in its bosom, darted: so we fled,
Turning the brittle edge of one high wave,--
Island and tree and sea-gods left behind!

Free as the air, from zone to zone I flew,
Far from the tumult to the quiet gates
Of daybreak; and beneath me I beheld
Vineyards, and rivers that like silver threads
Ran through the green, and gold of pasture-lands,--
And here and there a hamlet, a white rose,--
And here and there a city, whose slim spires
And palace-roofs and swollen domes uprose
Like scintillant stalagmites in the sun;
I saw huge navies battling with a storm
By ragged reefs along the desolate coasts,--
And lazy merchantmen, that crawled, like flies,
Over the blue enamel of the sea
To India or the icy Labradors.

A century was as a single day.
What is a day to an immortal soul?
A breath,--no more. And yet I hold one hour
Beyond all price,--that hour when from the heavens
I circled near and nearer to the earth,
Nearer and nearer, till I brushed my wings
Against the pointed chestnuts, where a stream
That foamed and chattered over pebbly shoals
Fled through the bryony, and with a shout
Leaped headlong down a precipice: and there,
Gathering wild-flowers in the cool ravine,
Wandered a woman more divinely shaped
Than any of the creatures of the air,
Or river-goddesses, or restless shades
Of noble matrons marvellous in their time
For beauty and great suffering; and I sung,
I charmed her thought, I gave her dreams; and then
Down from the sunny atmosphere I stole
And nestled in her bosom. There I slept
From moon to moon, while in her eyes a thought
Grew sweet and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning! When the stream,
Breaking through leafless brambles and dead leaves,
Piped shriller treble, and from chestnut-boughs
The fruit dropped noiseless through the autumn night,
I gave a quick, low cry, as infants do:
We weep when we are born, not when we die!
So was it destined; and thus came I here,
To walk the earth and wear the form of man,
To suffer bravely as becomes my state,--
One step, one grade, one cycle nearer God.

And knowing these things, can I stoop to fret
And lie and haggle in the market-place,
Give dross for dross, or everything for nought?
No! let me sit above the crowd, and sing,
Waiting with hope for that miraculous change
Which seems like sleep; and though I waiting starve,
I cannot kiss the idols that are set
By every gate, in every street and park,--
I cannot fawn, I cannot soil my soul:
For I am of the mountains and the sea,
The deserts, and the caverns in the earth,
The catacombs and fragments of old worlds.

* * * * *

CLARIAN'S PICTURE.

A LEGEND OF NASSAU HALL.

"Turbine raptus ingenii."--SCALIGER.

Mac and I dined together yesterday,--as we are used to do at least once or
twice every year, for the sake of our ever-mellowing friendship, and those
good old times in which it began. Like all who are ripe enough to have
memories, we delight to recall the period of our vernal equinox, and to
moralize, with gentle sadness and many wise wags of our frosty polls, upon
the events in which that period was prolific; and so, when the cloth was
removed yesterday, and we sat toying with our cigars and our Sherry, our
talk insensibly drifted back to those merry college-days when we not
infrequently "heard the chimes at midnight."

"Ah, old fellow," quoth I to my chum, "those good old days are gone by,
now, and Israel worships strange gods. Old Nassau will never be what she
was before the fire of '55. Those precious heirlooms of our day are sunk
from sight forever, dear and mossy as they were,--swept down, like cobwebs,
before the flame-besom. _'Fuit Ilium!'_ The old bell will never again ring
out the gay 'larums of a 'Third Entry' barring-out. Homer's head no longer
perches owl-like and wise over the central door-way. _'Ai, Adonai!'_ No
more wilt proud fingers point to the spot whereat entered--not like
'Casca's envious dagger'--that well-aimed cannon-ball which pierced the
picture-gallery, punched 'Georgius Res' on the head, and frightened away
forever the Hessians that were stabled there, fouling the nest of stout old
John Witherspoon. They call other rolls now in chapel and in class-room,
and chant other songs at their revels and their feasts. '_Eheu,
Posthume!_'"

"Pshaw, Ned Blount! there's corn in Egypt still. Out of that bug-riddled
old barn we used to know a new and comely Phoenix has been born unto
Princeton; the fire hath purged, not destroyed; and we wiseacres who
flourished in the old 'flush times' yet survive in tradition, patterns for
our children, very Turveydrops of collegiate deportment. The belfry clangs
with a louder peal; even Clarian's Picture, though it hath utterly perished
to the eye of sense, lives vivid in a thousand memories, and, having found
in the tenderness of tradition and legend an engraver whose burin is as
faithful as Raphael Morghen's, has left the damp dark wall, like Leonardo's
_Cenacolo_, to accompany all of us to our firesides."

Clarian's Picture! what memories the mention of it stirred up!

"Poor Clarian!" I murmured.

"Poor, indeed I" repeated Mac, with a sneer. "He is only worth a lovely
wife and six children, with half a million to back them. And he only weighs
two hundred pounds, with I forget how many inches of fat over the
brisket. Poor, indeed! 'Tis pity you and I have not experienced a slight
attack of that same poverty, Ned Blount!"

"Poor Clarian!" repeated I, sturdily. "To think that a man who could paint
such a picture, a soul of imagination so compact, a so delicate
ether-breathing spirit, should settle down at last into a mere mechanical,
a plodding, every-day merchant, whose finest fancies are given to the
condition of the money-market, who governs his actions by a decline of
Erie, and narrows his ideas down to the requirements of filthy lucre, like
a mere 'wintry clod of earth'! Ay, poor Clarian, poor anybody, when we wake
from our bright youth-dream and tread the rough pathway of a reality like
this!"

"_Potz tausend_! the man is _fou_!" shouted Mac. "Come, drink your wine,
Ned, and we'll have our coffee. It is quite time, I think,--and he used to
be a three-bottle fellow," muttered my dear old friend, _sotto
voce_. "'_Heu, heu! tempora mutantur, et nos_'--well, well, well!"

* * * * *

Clarian's Picture! What a gush of recollection the words evoke! I was in
the heyday and blossom of my youth then, and now--well, 'tis some years
since; yet how vividly I remember that pleasant noontide of a day of early
summer, when, as a party of us students were lounging about the gates that
opened from our shady campus upon the street, "Dennis" handed me a note
from Clarian, in which my little friend announced that his picture was
finished at last, and invited Mac and myself to call and see it
"exhibited," at nine o'clock that very evening. We were talking about
Clarian and his picture, at the time,--as, indeed, we had been doing for a
month,--and when I mentioned the purport of the note, curiosity rose to the
tiptoe of expectation, and numerous surmises were set afloat. I could have
satisfied their queries as to the subject and character of the picture, for
Mac and I had seen it only a few days before, but Clarian expected us to be
secret about it; so I only listened and smiled, while the eager talk ran
on, and a thousand conjectures were hazarded.

"So the _magnum opus_ is finished at last," said Clayt Zoile, showing by
his manner, as he joined us, that he at least had not received an
invitation; "a precious specimen of Art it will prove, I doubt not, after
all the outcry about it. '_Montes parturiunt_' etc."

"You'll lose your wish this time, Clayt," drawled Mounchersey, carelessly;
"Mr. Cosine told me yesterday that 'Boss' has called on Clarian about his
cutting so many prayers and recites, and that, after seeing the unfinished
picture, he gave the youngster _carte blanche_ as to time, till it is
completed;--so it must be something worth looking at"

"I guess Ned Blount's glad the picture is finished," said Tone Ninyan,
turning to me,--"a'n't you, Ned?"

I confessed I was not by any means sorry, for Clarian's sake.

"No," laughed Zoile, "Ned isn't sorry,--be sure of that; for he wants his
dear 'Whitewash' restored again to the bosom of society, lest the walls of
his reputation should by chance suffer from fly-speck."

These words created a laugh at my expense; for Clarian had shown himself,
in his warm, generous way, such a zealous advocate of my immaculate
perfection, that he was quite generally known by the _sobriquet_ of "Ned
Blount's Whitewash."

Just then Mac came along, on his way to the post-office, and I joined him,
showing him Ciarian's note.

"Hum," growled my good old chum, as he read it, "don't want to be disturbed
to-day; sick, is he? I'd like to know who's to blame, if he isn't. Wishes
me to bring my Shakspeare along;--it's a wonder he had not said Plotinus,
or Jacob Boehme's 'Aurora'; they're more in his style. The deuse take that
boy and his picture, Ned! What if we two fools have been playing too
roughly with such plastic clay? I wish to-night were come and gone
safely. I'll go see Dr. Thorne, and ask him to accompany us to-night. He
claims to be something of a connoisseur, and the picture is really worth
seeing, if the lad has not spoiled it with his 'final touches'. And anyhow,
the boy will be a study for a psychological monomaniac like Thorne."

"You apprehend, then...."

"_Sapperment_, you owl-face! I apprehend nothing; only it will be as well
to have Thorne present, for the boy is out of sorts, and his nerves were
never very strong. Now look here, Ned Blount! don't put on that lugubrious
phiz, I pray you;--and, moreover, don't you ever dare introduce any more of
your Freshmen _protege's_ to me; for, I warn you, I'll insult them, and
you, too,--I will, by Jove!"

I was not less impatient than Mac for the night to come, for I was very
anxious about Clarian, dreading lest some catastrophe was about to overtake
him,--and the thought was by no means pleasant. For, as Mac had said, the
lad was a _protege_ of mine; he had been given into my charge by his sweet
lady-mother; he had looked up to me as his senior and his friend; and I
could not help feeling, that, if anything untoward should happen to him, it
would be partly my fault.

From the very first I had been strongly attracted towards Clarian. Indeed,
the lad was remarkable for a peculiar spiritual beauty of person and
sweetness of manner that made almost every one love him. He was, in fact,
_lovely_, in the etymological sense of that misused word, and people
softened towards him as to a young, guileless child. I have known men cease
swearing when he drew near, drop ribaldry, and take up some more innocent
topic, simply through an unconscious impulse of fitness,--feeling that such
things had no business to be repeated in his presence. And they were right;
for a purer spirit than Clarian's I have never encountered in man or woman.
His face most reminded one of the portraits of Raphael at twenty. He had
the same broad, smooth forehead,--the same soft skin, delicate, yet rich as
the inner leaves of a pale rose,--the same finely shaped nose, and ripe,
womanly mouth, which a Persian, in default of a more tangible analogy,
would have likened to the seal of Solomon. But his lower face was somewhat
less full than Raphael's, the chin being shorter and sharper, and the jaw
curving less sensuously. His hair was of the purest chestnut hue, rich and
silken, showing here and there a thread of gold; he wore it long, and
flowing in half-ringlets upon his neck and shoulders. Clarian's eye was
large and dark, tender, rather sad, with now and then a speculative depth,
now and then a hint of the Romeo fore-doom, now and then a warm eloquence,
when meeting yours, that reminded strangely of a woman loving and in
love. Other womanly traits he had, such as the ingenuous blush with which
he asked or did a favor, and a certain not very boyish fondness for
softness and elegance of dress. Not that Clarian was effeminate, or in any
material respect deficient in manly character; but his mother was a widow,
and he her only son, and consequently he had been brought up like a girl,
at home, without any slightest opportunity to acquire those
rough-and-tumble experiences of ordinary boyhood which are so necessary to
fit us for battling in the world; for the world, though not unfeeling at
core, wears yet a sufficiently rough rind, and pretends but little sympathy
with persons of Clarian's stamp.

Hence, when Clarian came to college, he knew very little of life
indeed,--and, moreover, he cherished not a few ascetic notions, deeming
this world "all a fleeting show," from whose vain illusions it was one's
chief duty to shield one's self. He had never read a novel, save "some of
Scott's,"--nor ever seen or read a play, not even of Shakspeare's. How I
envied him this new world, in whose usages I had been _blase_ long before I
was of an age to appreciate its beauties,--this bright, fancy-fostering
world, to which he was to go all fresh and unsophisticated, like a bride to
the nuptial sheets! In literature of a more solid kind his practice was
quite considerable: he had surveyed many fields of Art, History, and
Theology, all of which, however, had first been submitted to the test of
that anxious maternal _Index Expurgatorius_, lest some drop of infidelity
or impurity should trickle in unawares, to darken or embitter the pure
crystal waters of his soul. Ah, thou poor fond mother, so unreasoningly
ignoring the fact that each of us must somehow eat his "peck of dirt"!

Thus intrusted to my charge, and having such attractive elements in his
character, I naturally took great interest in Clarian, and particularly
spared no effort to give him use in college ways. I saw that the lad was
not one to bear being laughed at, and so did all I could to screen him from
the embarrassments of ignorance,--taught him our customs, our fashions, and
gave him lessons upon that immemorial dialect in which college sublegists
delight. I chicaned to secure him a fine room, which his lady-mother
furnished "like a bridal chamher", if our Nassau cynics were to be
credited,--introduced him where it was necessary, and exercised generally
towards him that distinguished patronage which one who "knows the ropes" is
able to bestow upon a very Freshman.

A fine generous fellow was Clarian, for all his apron-string
antecedents,--bold as a lion, and as trustworthy as he was enthusiastic.
He was of rather too nervous a temperament to be precisely healthy in all
mental respects, but nevertheless had a fine comprehensive mind, very
capable of sustained and concentrated effort. He had been well taught, and,
unfortunately, was so far advanced beyond the studies of his class as to
have a great deal of leisure. In consequence he turned to reading, and
here, again unfortunately, he put himself under my guidance, and suffered
me to govern him in his choice of books: unfortunately, I say, for I was
then a worshipper of that clay-footed Nebuchadnezzar-image, Metaphysics,
which I fondly deemed all of gold, and the most genuine of things. So, when
Clarian came to me, I was eager enough to put to his lips the wine of which
I was drunken. The boy took his first sip from Coleridge's "Biographia
Literaria",--that cracked Bohemian glass, which, handed in a golden salver
that might have come from the cunning graver of Cellini, yet forces one to
taste, over a flawed and broken edge, the sourest drop of ill-made _vin du
pays_, heavily drugged and made bitter with Paracelsian laudanum. Under
that strange patchwork quilt so imaginative a soul as Clarian could not
fail to dream. It was a great pity I had not been more circumspect, for the
boy was already too deeply steeped in those Acherontic waters. His mother,
like many other women, had loved to wander along the dreamy paths of
sentimental theology, clothing from her own beautiful mind the dim,
unsubstantial spectres that beckoned her, and accepting all their mystic
utterances, in blind faith, for genuine oracles of God. Into these by-ways
he had followed her, and his clearer vision had just sufficed to reveal to
him the ghosts, without teaching him how to master or dispel them. Thus,
Cowper's sweetness, which charmed her, became to him Cowper's dejection and
despairing sadness, perplexing enough to his young brain. Where she took up
and fed her soul upon John Wesley's conclusions, the boy found himself
involved in John Wesley's perplexities, and struggling in desperate wrestle
with the haunting shapes to which John Wesley had given successful
battle. Thus prepared, no wonder my eager little friend plunged headlong
into the sea of doubts, impatient to cry, "Eureka!" and plant his foot upon
the Islands of the Blessed. The new excitement completely swept his feet
from under him. 'Twas but a step from Coleridge and _Esemplastic_ matters
to Plotinus, and in a month he had taken that step,--the more readily, that
he was a right good Grecian, and found no unpleasant philological
difficulties in the "Enneades". Thence he went on in feverish unrest,
wildly running up and down all _Niffelheim_ in quest of some centre-point
upon which he could stand firm and look around him. He had an excellent
mind, and, unexcited, could take sufficiently common-sense views of most
matters; but this was too much for him. He made substance of shadows, and
then exhausted himself in giving them battle. He became anxious, uneasy,
nervous,--showing very plainly, that, in his search after the Alkahest, he
had injured his powers by making trial of too many drugs.

Mac, with his sturdy good sense, and unerring mace-like judgment, speedily
became aware of this waste of function to which Clarian was subjecting
himself, and warned me accordingly.

"Why do you let that boy bother his brains about your stupid _Ego_ and
_Non-Ego_?" said he. "Don't you see he is injuring himself, beginning to
sink under a sort of mental _albumenurea_,--at the very time, too, when he
has most need of stamina? He does nothing but read, read, read,--and what,
forsooth? Not anything that will teach him the genuineness of life and
manhood, but those damnable spirit-exalting, body-despising emasculates of
Alexandria,--Madame Guyon's meditations, too, and Isaac Taylor's giddy
see-sawings,--all heresies, and bosh,--'Dead-Sea fruits that turn to
ashes', and not only disgust you, but blister tongue and lips most
vilely. You'll have him next trying to treat with the gods, to attain
Brahm's purification, Boodh's annihilation, to jump over the moon, or doing
something that will make him candidate for the shaved-head-and-blister
treatment. Remember, Ned, his brain is made of finer stuff than that stolid
sponge inside your _pia mater_, that can take in _quantum sufficit_ of
beer, fog, and tobacco-smoke, unharmed. He can't stand it, and he's too
rare and delicate a machine to go cranky thus soon. You've got the child
under your thumb,--bring him out o' that. Make him take a dose of Verulam,
get him back into the world again, and order him four hours _per diem_ at
the dumb-bells."

And so, the next time Clarian came to our rooms, and was eagerly soliciting
my opinion of a little essay he had written, to establish the identity of
the Logos with the Demiurgic Mind, ("Plato's World-Soul, called in 'Timaeus'
the best of Eternal Intelligences, the Noetic Partaker and Digester of
Reason", said Clarian in his tract,) with some corollaries for the purpose
of reconciling _Geist_ and _Freiheit_, all sauced down, _a l'Allemagne_,
with numerous capitals and a proper degree of incomprehensibility,--Mac
bluffly interrupted the colloquy, and accosted Clarian,--

"Younker! do you know you're a fool?"

Clarian colored up,--

"How, Mac?"

"What are we--Ned, and you, and I--here for?"

"To acquire knowledge."

"Ay, knowledge,--but what for?"

"To fit us for heaven."

"Phew! then you calculate to graduate from 'these classic shades' direct
into celestial regions, do you, without sojourning awhile in this terrene
purgatory? I do not, and, moreover, _je n'en ai pas l'envie_; I think the
world has some claims upon me, and I mean to pay that debt, D. V."

"So do I, Mac," rejoined Clarian, a little proudly.

"And do you suppose your present studies adapted to fit you for such work?
Now, if you want to be a monk, if you are willing, like Origen, to purchase
with your entire manhood some supposed facility of spiritual contemplation
and depth of insight into the Infinite, or if you intend to become a
Brahmin, and seek in your navel the dyspeptic divinity who there wields his
sceptre, while your despised body is given up to the predatory ravages of
_genus pediculus_, well and good. Follow your hest, go on and conquer the
[Greek: gnosis] and when you have got it, just inform me what it looks
like, and whether you will be more able to make use of it than the fellow
was of the elephant he bought at auction. But if you desire to take a man's
part in this grand world around you, you must leap off your shadow, and
never think about thinking, as the new Olympian has it. Let quiddities
alone, they are dry-bone vampires, that drain you of your blood without
growing fatter themselves."

"But how can truth harm? and that is what I seek,--truth, and beauty; if I
commune with the world-soul, then also I know the world."

"Faugh! let shadows alone; believe in the man; do not be persuaded that the
body is depraved and corrupt, and only the soul is worthy to be cultivated.
Hold fast to the tangible. We know that we have a body, spite the Bishop of
Cloyne, far more certainly than we know we have a soul. See, the soul is
this smoke, that evanishes so quickly; the body this meerschaum that I have
in my fingers, and will smoke again, please God."

"But it is the smoke, not the pipe, that gives you pleasure, and is the
important consideration, Mac."

"Confound analogies, and pert Freshmen!" growled my chum, puffing
vigorously. "Nevertheless, it is a noble and right royal thing, this
body,--a thing to be cared for and cultivated for its own sake, apart from
the fact of its being God's chosen sanctuary for what He lends us to see
Him by. And you are neglecting it, both in theory and practice, Clarian; so
you must give up these infernal Metaphysics. If you _will_ bother about
speculative matters, let Bacon teach you the correctives of error, and
Locke how to govern and rein in the understanding. But you'd better learn
first what men say about men. It may not make you happier, but it will make
you wiser, and wisdom ranks high in heaven: Gabriel, Raphael,
Michael,--'tis the second person in that archangelic trinity. Did you ever
read Shakspeare? No, of course not; and yet I'll wager you have been
hankering after the Bhagavat Ghita, and trying to get a copy of the
illustrious Trismegistan Gimander! Don't blush,--you're not the first young
man who has made an a--ahem--made a mistake. Fie! Learn men, Clarian, and
then you will come to know man,--the surest way, I take it, of knowing the
Multitudinous God. So read you Shakspeare, and AEschylus, save the
'Prometheus,'--_that_ was begotten of Bactrian lore upon the mysteries of
Karnac, and does not touch man nearly, spite of all its grandeur. Here,
listen, and I will give you a lesson in the Myriad-Minded whom
Stratford-upon-Avon blessed our little earth with."

Therewith, Mac began to read from the first act of "The Tempest." Now chum
was a Shakspeare enthusiast, and, withal, a very fine reader, as well as,
from long study, quite pervaded with the Master's diction and style of
thought. As he read on, he commented, in his brief, pointed way, upon the
text, contrasting the Boatswain's practical usefulness with the shivering
helplessness of the Courtiers. "Now this is your proper somatology," he
added. "What our Bo's'un says to Gonzalo, the world will say to you,
Clarian, when you propose to it any of your panaceas: Are you able to do
better than we? If so, save us from the shipwreck that threatens. If not,
go to your prayers. Anyhow, 'out of our way, I say!'"

"Bravo!" cried I, when the homily came to an end, "Mac is preaching
Carlylism, as I'm a sinner. The next utterance will be something about
roofing Hell over, or the Everlasting Yea, or Morrison's Pills! Proceed:
'lay on,' Mac! none of us will cry, 'Hold, enough!' save under risible
compulsion."

Mac sulked awhile, but soon resumed his reading,--sparing us further
comment, however. Thus was Clarian led over the threshold, and introduced
into Shakspeare's magic world. When Mac closed his book at the end of the
act, Clarian's face glowed with a flattering something that must have
pleased my chum, for he _was_ proud of his reading,--and the moisture
glittering in the lad's eye, his flushed cheek, and the tremor of his voice
as he asked to hear more, spoke volumes.

But Mac said, "No,--enough is as good as a feast, younker, and just now I
have to go with Bacchus in quest of a tragedian for Athens,--[Greek: brek
kek koax, koax], you know. Study the Master yourself: and let me by all
means advise your wisdom to detect a mystery in 'Hamlet,' and to essay the
solution of the same. Nobody else has done so, of course, and it will
become your long head. I've met several very mild, quiet people, whom you
would not suspect of the slightest impropriety; but mention the Dane, and,
_presto!_ off they go upon their hobbies, ('theories,' they call 'em,) and
canter around Bedlam at a most generous pace. '_Semel insanivimus omnes_,'
I suppose, and Hamlet and the Apocalypse offer rare opportunities."

"Now, Ned," said Mac, somewhat complacently, when Clarian was gone, "I
think I have done that young rascal some good, and the bard will advantage
him still more, if he can only be moderate enough."

And, indeed, these new pastures thus unbarred to Clarian's coltish fancies
made a great change in the lad. At first he simply revelled in the new
world of beauty that the Master's wand evoked, like a bird in the fresh,
warm sunshine of returning spring. But this did not last long; the bird
must busy himself with nest-building. Clarian's ardent, impetuous nature
must evolve results, would not content itself with mere sensations. So he
began to study Shakspeare,--not, as he had studied the philosophers, to
pluck out and make his own some cosmical, pervading thought, but to find
matter for Art-purposes. I think, that, if ever there was a born artist,
who united to a fine aesthetic sense the fervor of a devotee, Clarian was
that one, heart and soul. Some men make a mistress of Art, and sink down,
lost in sensual pleasure and excess, till the Siren grows tired and
destroys them. Other men wed Art, and from the union beget them fair,
lovely, ay, immortal children, as Raphael did. Some again, confounding Art
with their own inordinate vanity, grow stern and harsh with making
sacrifices to the stone idol, grinding down their own hearts in vain
experimenting after properer pigments, whereby themselves may attain to a
chill and profitless immortality. But there are others still, who,
elevating Art into a grand divinity, bow down and worship it, devote their
lives to its priesthood, and, as a reward, only ask the god to reveal to
them once his unveiled effulgence, content with the one communion, though
their rashness be fatal, and the god's benison prove but the ashes of
Semele. Towards this class Clarian tended, I knew very well, and hence,
from the first, I had thrown a damper upon his artistic aspirations, often
rewarded by his mournful and reproaching glances, as I sneered at his
sketches,--which, to tell the truth, were most admirable, showing at once a
keen poetic insight, fine composition, and an unusual mastery of technical
details. The obedient fellow had bowed to what he deemed my better
judgment, and turned away, with something of a sigh, from his dear love and
ambition. Now, however, this love came suddenly back, and with tenfold
intensity, as is always the case, and, though I dreaded its unhealthiness,
I could no longer thwart him. Indeed, the Art-sense took such complete
possession of him that I feared to interpose obstacles. He did not go about
his work like a boy, but bent himself to it with the calm, resolute purpose
of a man of forty. I could see the increasing mastery of the idea, in his
changed eye, in his compressed lip, in his statelier, calmer pose; and,
however incredulous we may be respecting _results_, these initiatory
motions never fail to impress us. Even Bluebeard would forbear to strike
down his pregnant wife, for the sake of what she bore under her bosom; and
I, seeing the boy's careful study, and his long and laborious preparation,
could not help looking forward to a result of commensurate importance.

Nevertheless, it was my duty to have combated Clarian's tendencies, for I
could not help seeing the daily injury they did him. _Ars longa, vita
brevis_, was an overpowering conviction of the lad's, and he went to work
to apply the maddest of correctives. Art so exacting and life so short,
then it was his office to labor so much the more earnestly, so much the
more eagerly, that he might squeeze dry this orange of the present, and
lose no opportunity, no moment. Thus it came to pass with him, as it does
with us all who overwork ourselves, that actually he did less than he might
have done, and warped himself in a most pitiable way indeed. A
conscientious fellow, as he was, Clarian had hitherto been very faithful to
his duties in the regular curriculum,--but now all this was changed. Here
was a grand something to be done, a something so grand, indeed, that his
whole life must bow before its exactions, and all minor duties step out of
the way of Juggernaut. Who thinks of etiquette, of drawing-room
trivialities, when here we are before this mistress, at whose feet we must
pour out our soul? for her love blesses us with new life, her scorn damns
us with eternal despair. In this cursed fashion always the Idea masters a
man's soul, when he has once listened to its Lurlei-song. Henceforth he is
only to see things in the light it chooses to shed upon them. Let your
Alchemist but seek his Elixir long enough for the poison to fairly fill his
veins, and behold what a slave and a monster the Idea shall make of him!
Projection awaits him; the elements are here, commingling _in balneo
Mariae_; already _Rosa Solis_ lends its generative warmth; already hath _Leo
Rubeus_ wooed and won his lily bride; already hath the tincture headed up
royally in ruby and in purple, and sublimed, and gone through the entire
circle of embryonic processes: quick! there lacks but the one element; in
with it, and we are masters of the Life-Secret, of wealth, and power, and
all else the world can bestow,--ay, and we can give back to the world all
it asks! Yes, but that element is _Sanguis Virginis_. Well, and why not a
virgin's blood? Great things must be purchased,--cannot be plucked, like
fruit, from every tree. Were it _Sanguis Senis_, now, who would tap a vein
more readily than we, ay, even were a drop from the carotid required? And
must the world lose all this divine gift for a simple? What did Abraham on
Moriah? Here is this child; of what use is she to the world?--yet a few
ounces of her blood, and man is regenerate. In her innocence, too,--why, a
Manichee would have done it for her own sake. Come, quick knife,--and, we
do murder! I tell you, by dwelling on it, tasting, smelling of it, taking
it into our bosoms, and making ourselves familiar with it, we poor men can
finally persuade ourselves that the most damning thought begot of Hell upon
a putrescent brain is the fairest, brightest, most glorious _Deus
vult_. Here was the danger that menaced Clarian, ay, had already begun to
insinuate its poison into his daily food. The simple fact of his neglecting
his studies proved this. It was a venial sin, doubtless,--but still, it was
his _premier pas_, and, as such, ominous enough.

Giving himself up to his art, he soon began to illustrate in his person the
effects of confinement and excessive thought. His pale cheek grew paler
still, the hollows under his eyes deepened, and his slim fingers waxed
slimmer and more transparent than ever. I could see also that he had
excessive bile,--not only ascertainable by looking at his imbrowned eye,
but deducible from a change in his temper that was by no means an
improvement. His room was full of sketches and drawing-material: these
attracted visitors, and visitors were a trouble. Perhaps there was
impertinence in their curiosity, very likely their presence hindered him;
but, nevertheless, it was by no means like the sweet-tempered Clarian to
show irritability and petulance, and finally, closing his door obstinately
against all comers, to elect for solitude and silence at his work.
No,--the boy was changed, grown morbid, a pervert, ripe for whatever
Devil's sickle might be put forth to gather him in.

Thus things went on from bad to worse, until the authorities began to take
notice of the lad's derelictions. The kind old President sent for me, and
made many inquiries about Clarian. Evidently the elders were not a trifle
bothered by my little _protege's_ proceedings, and did not know how to
act. He had been much liked, his character was unblemished, he had done
himself credit in his studies: what did all this change mean? The Faculty
made it a rule to respect every man's privacy as much as possible,--but
Mr. Blount well knew that the present state of things could not long be
permitted. In their eyes, the backslider was palpably a far more unsavory
fact than the original sinner. Could not Mr. Blount use his influence in
some way, or suggest some course? Mr. Blount presented Clarian's cause in
as favorable a light as possible; spoke of the youth's noble nature;
guarantied that there was no moral obliquity; strongly advised leniency;
venturing withal to hope, nay, to believe, that all this devotion, so
intense, to a single purpose, would not be fruitless, might possibly win
him credit. He certainly had fine imagination, and then he was so absorbed
in his work;--it was a question whether it would help him most to encourage
or to repress his ardor at present. The Doctor pondered, said he would take
the matter into consideration,--it were a pity to nip any wholesome
enthusiasm i' the bud,--"but it is very apparent, Mr. Blount, that the
young man, if he goes on, will experience the fate of Orpheus, and so needs
to be curbed in time. '_Medio tutissimus ibis_', saith Naso,--a maxim the
non-observance of which cost him the pain and disgrace of exile. And you
should strive to impress the truth of it upon Clarian; spare no pains to
rouse him. This seclusion is what I most dread. The poet Spenser hath made
all his viler passions dwellers in caves and darkness, and with truth; for
solitude is fatal, where there are morbid and melancholic tendencies. A
very wise German, remarking upon the text, 'It is not good for man to be
alone,' added, very finely,--'and above all, it is not good for man to
_work_ alone; he requires sympathy, encouragement, excitement, to succeed
in anything good.'"

But I found the worthy old Doctor's advice easier to inculcate than to
practise. Clarian did not need my sympathy, had excitement and
encouragement enough in his own hopes, and, in fact, like the Boatswain in
"The Tempest," only required to be let alone. Still, he paid us a visit now
and then, and gave us to understand that he denied himself our society, did
not thrust it aside as something useless and disagreeable. When he came, he
would talk freely, and give us but too plain evidence of the change and
confusion that were taking place in him. Mac never spared him at these
times, and on one occasion, only a fortnight previous to the exhibition of
the picture, fairly drove the boy into a passion.

"Well, Mr. Whitewash," said he, as Clarian came in, "how are you at this
present writing? You _look_ as if you had been dieting on Gamboge and Flake
White. Take care, young man, or you'll put us students to the cost of a
tombstone with a Latin epitaph for you, yet,--beginning, _Interfecit
se_.--How comes on the Art? You've given the go-by to _Ego_ and _Non-Ego_,
I suppose, and have resolved to achieve the very [Greek: kudos] upon a
ten-foot whitewashed wall, eh? _Soit_,--but what results? Can you say yet,
as Correggio did when he saw the St. Cecilia of Raphael, '_Anch' io son
pittore_'? or do you intend to limit your ambition, _a la_ Dick Tinto, to
the effecting of two liquidations in one by the restoration of
tavern-signs?"

"Please do not taunt me, Mac, for I am cast down, almost. I have the
grandest conception, but the life-touch escapes me. It is in vain I seek
it: we cannot do a thing properly, unless we _feel_ it; passion will not be
simulated. What we know, and can do well, must all be repeated from our own
experience, says St. Simon,--and I agree with him."

"St. Simon be--hanged!" quoth Mac. "So, it seems, the Metaphysic is not
abandoned. St. Simon, forsooth!--why, his doctrine was, that, to comprehend
the nature of crime, one had first to commit crime himself. Pah! according
to that, he who would most thoroughly learn the philosophy of our carnal
lusts must exchange natures with the goat. Pray, why do not you solicit
Herr Urian to give you a hircine metamorphosis, Clarian?"

"Nay, Mac, can it be thus put off with a jest and a sneer, after all? What
do you think of these words I came across last night?"--and opening his
note-book, Clarian read as follows: "For of old it hath been clearly
proven, action without passion is nought save idle folly. _Passio Christi
hominis redemptio_. For as sin came into the world by suffering, so also
the gift of knowledge, which man would have confessedly lacked, had he not
purchased it _pretio mortis_,--even whereat, meseemeth, 'tis not a
commodity too high-priced. And as Philo Judaeus hath well observed, (as that
arch heretic doth but seldom, wherefore let us ascribe to him the full
credit,) '_Materia parens est (etiam ipsa mater) peccali_,' so, to attain
to anything really spiritual, we have even to be born again of this our
parent, by the reentrance of whose womb, in pain and darkness, we come back
to the true and the living, and have provision given us wherewith we shall
conquer worlds. For, to fix the pure thought and to identify it with the
true and holy, we must first divide it from the base clogs of matter; and
how can we effect this disjunction, save, as it hath ever been done, by
passion,--not simulate nor taken at second hand, cold,'_bis coctum quasi_,'
but rather presently and in our very selves reiterate? So Naaman dipt in
Jordan,--a task unto him, a sin in the eyes of his gods, and painful
exceedingly to his pride-gorged humor, that would only have Abana and
Pharpar,--yet only so was his skin made whole again, and soft like an
infant's. So also did David the king come into tasting of the bliss of a
true repentance by the terrible gateways of shameful adultery and
blood-thirst."

"Oh, I agree with your author perfectly," said Mac, with inimitable
gravity, while I gazed at Clarian, wondering what would come next. "All the
greatest gifts man possesses have had evil sponsors or unrighteous
baptism. Even Prometheus _filched_ his fire from heaven, or t'other
place. Doing evil for the sake of a prospective good is an immemorial
custom, and well precedented. Revenue-farming, the _parc-aux-cerfs_, and Du
Barry only went down before _La Terreur_, Robespierre, and _Les Journees de
Septembre_."

"But seriously, Mac, is it not admissible, now and then, to employ
questionable means, ordinary ones failing?"

"Certainly. You may even sin, provided you believe in your cause. Faith is
the one save-all and cure-all. You smile? I can give you good
authority,--none other than Martin Luther, who, in one of his disputations,
says emphatically, '_Si in fide posset fieri adulterium, peccatum non
esset_'; and he wrote still more plainly upon this point in one of his
letters to Melancthon, saying, '_Ab hoc nos non avellet peccatum, etiamsi
millies millies uno die fornicamur aut occidamus._' [Footnote: _Vie de
Luther_, par AUDIN, Paris, 1839. An accurate book, but scathingly bitter.]
So follow your bent, younker, and they cannot say you are without
'precedent right reverend.'"

Clarian sprang to his feet, his pale face all ablaze with indignation. "You
have no right to say such things to me, Sir," he cried, "for you know well
enough"--

"I know well enough that you are a crack-brained jackanapes, with your
damned fantastics!" bellowed Mac, angry in his turn. "What do you
mean,--you, who are a perfect little saint in your life,--what do you mean
by thrusting all these foul heresies at me, as if you were a veritable
citizen of Sodom, or a rejuvenized Faust, who have just replenished your
stock of 'experiences,' as you call them, by seducing Margaret and stabbing
her brother? Burn your books, if that filth is all they teach you,--and
mend your manners, if you expect to be tolerated in respectable
company. Good-bye!" cried he, as Clarian rushed white-heated from the room.

"Pshaw, Ned, spare your remonstrances, if you please,--I'm tired of the
little fool's nonsense."

"But the boy is sick, my dear fellow, and requires to be treated more
gently. His mind is diseased, and it would not take much to drive him quite
desperate."

"No such good luck, Ned. I wish I _could_ make him pitch into somebody or
something. Nothing would do the beggar so much good, just now, as to get
himself into a regular scrape. It would act like a shower-bath, wake him
up, and purge him of these dismal humors."

"Still, you would not like to have it said that _you_ were the cause of his
getting into any difficulty; and you know very well he is not one to
extricate himself easily, if once involved."

"Never fear. '_Il y a un Dieu pour les enfants et les ivrognes_', says a
proverb in which I place implicit faith."

* * * * *

We saw nothing of Clarian until some three or four nights after this, when
he came hurriedly into our room. It was quite late, but Mac was still at
his Mathematics, while I was dawdling with my pipe and a volume of
Sternberg's pleasant tales. Clarian walked directly up to Mac, holding out
his hand, and saying, "I have come to ask your forgiveness, my dear Mac; I
was wrong and foolish the other day."

"Nonsense, you flighty canary-bird!" said Mac; "you owe me nothing, so
have done with that. Sit down and smoke a pipe with us."

"No,--I have come for you and Ned; I want you to see my picture to-night.
Come, I will take no denial,--I am about to finish it, and I want your
criticisms before I lay on the final touches."

"Why not to-morrow, Clarian?"

"Then everybody will want to see. No, it must be to-night."

Mac and I were by no means reluctant to humor the lad, for we were not
incurious respecting the picture, and we accompanied him forthwith. His
room was quite large, well lighted and airy, with a sleeping-closet
attached. Over the blank wall opposite the windows hung a black muslin
curtain of most funereal aspect, which rolled up to the ceiling by means of
a cord and pulley, and, being now down, effectually concealed from view
what we had come to see. Clarian placed three or four candles, made us be
seated, filling pipes for us, and taking one himself, a most rare
occurrence with him,--all the while talking with more vivacity than I had
seen him exhibit for several months. "I have carefully studied my subject,
fellows," said he, "and have striven after perfection. I went to Shakspeare
for it, Mac, and sought one that would give me at once a proper field, and
at the same time pervade me so that I could paint from myself. Singularly
enough, I have found this magnetic influence most completely in
'Macbeth'. Do you remember Scene Fourth of the Third Act? That is the
situation I have endeavored to portray. Macbeth, wretched criminal,
suspects every one of his own dark purposes, or fears their hatred, because
he feels himself hateful. He is not a coward, either physically or morally;
his fears are all intellectual; he knows that Banquo is too noble to serve
him, too powerful to be permitted to serve against him,--so he must out of
the way. The murderers have received their commission; the king, satisfied
now that all he has to fear will shortly be removed, has said, 'There's
comfort yet'; he has cheered his wife with words even merry, as he can with
some complacency, for it is truly his principle of action, that

'Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill';

and now, in this scene, he is to meet his courtiers at a state-banquet,
given in honor of Banquo, he tells them with hardihood. For we must
remember that this jealous king is no longer the warrior Thane whom we
first encounter upon the 'blasted heath', and whom we afterwards see
haunted by horrid visions of 'air-drawn daggers', as he turns his hand to
crime. He has gotten far beyond all this. Murders to him are become but
'trifles light as air'; use has blunted his sensibility, and to bring back
all that agony and horror needs a vastly stronger excitement than a mere
deed of blood. We see this in the cool way he tells the murderer, 'There's
blood upon thy face', as if it simply made him look less presentable.
Nevertheless, suffer for it Macbeth must. That is ordained; and the means
to it, and particularly the _effect_ of those means, are what I have tried
to represent here."

So saying, he drew up the curtain, and the picture stood before us. Mac and
I gave it one quick glance, and then, with a simultaneous impulse, extended
our hands to Clarian. The lad laughed a little laugh of joy as he returned
our embrace, and then silently nodded towards the picture again.

Those old Princetonians who have seen Clarian's Picture will easily be able
to explain our emotion upon beholding it thus for the first time. It was in
colored crayon, and covered a large portion of the wall, representing a
lofty, but entirely unornamented Gothic hall, with a table in the centre,
around which were grouped the guests. These showed in their faces and
disordered array that dismay and anxiety which were natural to them at
sight of their king so strangely and appallingly stricken, but evidently
they were entirely and happily unconscious of the THING that sat there in
their midst, touching them, consorting its charnel horrors with their
warm-blooded humanity,--so near, so close to them, that _he_ fancied the
smell of that trickling gore, that dank grave-soil, must necessarily enter
in at their nostrils, and he sickened at the thought for very sympathy. The
woe-wasted wife, comprehending what it meant, as she chiefly, from the dark
depths of her own spotted consciousness, _could_ comprehend, had yet flung
her fear aside for the sake of him whom she loved with a love so
bitter-costly, and now she stood at his side, fiercely clutching him, and
taunting him like a tigress with his unmanly fears. Ah, had that clutch
upon his elbow been the searing grasp of white-heated pincers, eating to
the bone, it had not stirred _him_. He stood there, a tall, large-limbed
man, brown and weather-stained, one who had endured much, wrinkled
somewhat, care-marked about the brow, but very capable, and evidently as
bold and daring, to the line, as he asserted himself,--he stood there,
flung back, fixed, petrified, as it were, by the baleful judgment that
lighted those unearthly eyes which watched him from across the table there;
and though his arm be flung up over his face, half to protect, half in
menace,--though his fist be clenched and swollen, his brow dark and
frowning, we know he will not spring forward, but will stand there still,
no life in all that mass of muscle, no will-power in that capable brain,
nought but impotent malignity in that murderous frown: for he is
stricken,--his sin has found him out,--ay, at the very altar, Orestes hears
the Furies shriek their hatred in his ears, exultingly proclaiming that for
him at least there is no rest, nor ever shall be!

Such was the impression of Clarian's Picture, and I felt my blood fairly
tingle with recognition of the boy's power.

"It is noble, great," said Mac, in those deep tones that spoke how he was
moved, "and men shall call you Artist when it is finished."

Finished! what more did it want? what more could be done to this so
perfect composition?

"Ah, Mac," said Clarian, enthusiastically seizing my chum's hands, "such
recognition as yours is what I have yearned for, and yet--'tis you who have
chiefly mocked me. It _shall_ be finished, Mac, and worthily! Do you not
think I have prayed for the inspiration, that I might bestow that final,
life-giving touch? Two months ago it was as near complete as it is
now,--but not until this very night have I felt the power of it. Now,
however, my soul is full of it, and it shall wax into a poem. This is why I
sought you, dear friends, to-night; for I am too gloriously happy to be
selfish, and I want you to share my happiness with me. Yes, Mac, it has
come at last, the warm Promethean fire, and at last I can proclaim, '_Anch'
io son pittore_!'"

I gazed at the lad as he raised his voice with these last words, and was
almost awed by his singular beauty. It seemed almost as if a halo should
encircle his brow. There was a delicate rose-flush on his cheek that
rivalled in strange loveliness the hectic color of the young mother when
her first-born nestles close and fondly to her thrilled bosom, and his eyes
glowed with a rare lambent light that touched one with the eloquence of a
beautiful dream. Mac eyed him with equal wonder and delight, but said,
teasingly,--

"Hey! so you have come at last to the 'true and the living,' have you? Art
regenerate? I hope thou hast also undergone that true baphometic
fire-baptism, whereof the worthy Diogenes Teufelsdroeckh hath discoursed so
appetizingly, causing us to long after it, none the less that he hath
scrupulously refrained from expounding whatever it is."

"Yes, Mac, the new life dawns upon me,--no Plotinian trance, no somnambulic
introspection, but a genuine awakening of the soul to a sense of its own
beauty."

"Prodigious! as Dominie Sampson would say. Nay, I am not laughing at you,
Clarian," said Mac, pointing to the picture; "_there_ is enough to make me
believe in you, though how you achieved it I cannot imagine."

"The means, Mac? Is not that rather my question than yours? We judge
ourselves from within; 'others judge us by what we have done,' says
Goethe. The means, ha, and the motive? Why will men seek stumblingly after
these, when actually their sole concern is with the thing done? So, you two
look at me,--I was but pondering,--putting a case;--so far, the means here
have been simple and innocent,--my hand, my eye, my brain, my purpose;
but--Mac!" added he, suddenly, after a pause, "did you never, in reading
Rabelais, feel that somehow there was a profound and reverential symbolism
underlying the wild froth of words in which the histories of Gargantua and
Pantagruel have come down to us? that in all that _olla-podrida_ of filth,
quip, jest, wicked folly, and mad wisdom, was yet hidden, like the pearl in
the oyster, a deep and most mystic system of world-philosophy?"

"Anan?" said Mac, looking at the boy curiously.

"For instance, in what the good Cure of Meudon says about the 'herb
Pantagruelion',--did the symbolism and esoteric meaning of all that never
strike you?"

"Oh, yes," cried Mac, with a singularly significant smile, "I see how it is
now. I understand. You are improving, Clarian, rapidly. Hum, wonder what
your mother would say, if she knew you were a friend of Panurge's, and did
draw such inferences from his wisdom! Yes, _mon enfant_, I have long felt
the profundity of Pantagruelion, not less than the oracular efficacy of
Bacbuc. And no one can deny that the thinnest strand of Manila, if not full
of mysteries _per se_, can at least open the way for us to the very
innermost crypts, and hence may be styled _potentially_ a very gateway to
Eleusinia."

"I do not mean that, Mac,--not the mere mechanical warp and woof of it, to
hang beggars and sots with,--but the more potent essence, the inner cosmic
power of it, to rouse the soul into grand expansive consciousness, and then
to suspend it far above the carks and cares of this weary world, to sew it
aloft to some leaf of the Tree of Life, like the nest of Jean Paul's
tailor-bird, that it may swing there, above the hum and dust of matter,
swayed and sung to sleep by the expanding breath of Infinity! Oh, yes!"
cried Clarian, while his cheek glowed warmer, his eye flamed brighter, and
his voice flowed on with a rhythmic throb, "oh, yes, I know it all, now!
The Idea is awake, and dwells in my soul, at once master there and slave. I
leap out of this base Present: I stand panting and glowing before the
mighty portals of Infinity, from whose inner masses I see the grand Gods
beckoning to me, greeting me as of their kindred, summoning me to take my
throne also, which awaits me in their midst. I have burst these narrow
bonds of flesh, and my soul shall soar henceforth in the grandeur realized
of the Spirit, like a proud falcon just unmewed and flung off in sight of
the noblest quarry. Art! what a dull, meaningless sound it was
yesterday!--but now, the entombing pyramid of matter is up-heaved, flung
off forever, and the Spirit stands erect in her bright Palingenesis,
half-intoxicate with the all-pervading sense of her own grand beauty. The
tree is rent asunder,--Ariel soars again in his element. Psyche has loosed
herself from the fettering contact of Daimon, and lo, now, how daintily she
poises on tiptoe, fluttering her wings ere she launches like a star into
the wide exhilarant ether! O divine Art! pride, glory, first love of my
soul! now, indeed, hast thou exchanged the yoke of dull Saturn and the
gloomy caverns of earth for the fair heights of Olympus, and the
companionship of Zeus [Greek: Nephelaegeretaes], him at whose nod the
heavens display themselves like a many-figured arras, all alive with
beauties and significance that the dull eye conjectures not, that the
impure, unpurged eye shrinks away from, lest it be seared by the too great
splendor! I know it all now. I began gropingly, in surmise, error,
darkness; but now my brow catches, ay, and reflects, the calm, pure,
effulgent light of Nature's definite day, and I bathe myself in its happy
warmth. Erst, I grovelled like a worm, blind and earth-fed: now, I shall
speed through very space, winged heel and shoulder, a swift, untiring
Hermes, who have drunk of the milk that flows rich in Nature's breasts, and
am emancipate forever in the decorous freedom of the beautiful
self-conscious spirit! Oh, the glory, oh, the boon of Art, the play-deity!
Phoebus no longer drives herds for Admetus, but is grown into Helios, feels
in his breast the freer life of the very Hyperion, the walker on high. Ay,
ay, smile on, Mac, you and Ned! I shall not quarrel with you for not
understanding me; it is only just now that I have learned to understand
myself. My Art will reward me; even now, while you doubt, it is already
doing so. I tell you, you two, whom I love and honor", cried he, rising to
his feet, lifted up, as it were, by the exaltation of his soul, while his
voice rose like the gush of a fine-toned flute, "I tell you, moreover, that
I am an artist, with a work to do that shall be done, and so done that you
two who love me will be the first to salute me Artist, to recognize me, and
acknowledge me for what I shall become."

"We do that already, Clarian," said Mac's emphatic voice.

"No," said Clarian, firmly, proudly, like a poet about to kneel that he may
receive the laurel crown, "no, you do not know me yet."

And he was right. We did not yet know him.

"That is a boy after my own heart", said Mac, after we had returned to our
room. He was standing by the open window, and I at his elbow, both of us
thinking of the strange child we had just left, while our eyes took note of
the fair night, how the silvery sheen of the moonlight glistened upon the
leaves, and sprinkled itself in dappling flecks between the trees on the
soft even sward of the campus below. "A boy after my own heart,--and, in
spite of all his twaddle, will make an artist. It's in him."

"But did you not think him strangely wild to-night? I never heard him talk
so fluently; but it was not the talk of a sane man."

Mac looked at me, laughing long and loud. "Thou dear innocent Ned!" cried
he at last, "what a diagnostic thou wouldst make! It was indeed the talk of
madness, good chum, and a very pretty madness was it, one that needeth not
any Anticyran purgatives to expel it. So thou must not fash thyself about
the lad, _du liebe dummkopf_, for he will come right very speedily. Didst
remark not what he said about the 'herb Pantagruelion,' which, in the
vulgar, meaneth only _hemp_? And surely you noted the warm flush of his
cheek, the dilatation of his eye, and its phosphorescent glow? Dr. Thorne
would soon enough tell you what these things signify. The boy is not crazy,
Ned, but drunk,--drunk in the decorous delirium of a Damascene Pacha,
propped against a Georgian maid, and fanned by Houris of Bethlehem
Judah. He has been reading Monte Cristo, perhaps, or has somehow heard
about the Indian Hemp, not the '_utilissima funibus cannabis_' of practical
Pliny, but _Cannabis Indica_, wherewith, I believe, Amrou spurred on his
Arabs to their miraculous feats of war, when he conquered Egypt and drove
Alexandria's Prefect into the sea,--the _bhang_ of amok-running Malays, the
_haschish_ of Syria and Cairo. This is what hath made him drunk, and, i'
faith, the intoxication does not ill become him. He will be all right in
the morning, and all the better for this little brush. And anyhow, Ned, you
must not watch the boy too closely, nor interfere with him. Let him 'gang
his ain gait.' He comes of another breed than ours, I begin to suspect,
and our rough fodder and grooming may not suit his higher blood.--_Ach,
Himmel!_ Ned," cried he, laughing, "it pleased me, though, to see how
adroitly he contrived to twist that new reading out of the _bon homme
Francois_. It was quite in the style of St. Augustine, and would have
delighted that ex-sophist hugely; for, great as he was, and self-denying as
he was, he always had a hankering after the dialectic flesh-pots. How he
would have rubbed his hands, when Clarian wanted to persuade us that the
herb Pantagruelion was no other than Haschish, the expander of
souls!--Hollo! yonder goes the lad now. I wonder what he is up to. See him,
Ned, yonder, just coming out of the shadow of North College. How fast he
walks! how he is swinging his arms! I'll bet he is repeating poetry. I
wonder what the lad is after, anyhow.--There he goes, round the corner of
West College,--over the fence. Can he mean to have a game of ball by
moonlight?--No,--he's making across the fields; if he had a pitcher with
him now, I'd say he was going to the spring in the hollow.--Confound that
tree! I've lost him."

I proposed following Clarian, being really uneasy about him, but Mac
entered his veto,--

"No, Ned,--there's no need, and--it's none of our business. Children like
him have a hundred baby-houses we do not know anything about. He wants a
bath in the moonlight, I suppose, and wouldn't thank you for playing Actaeon
to the naked Diana of his midnight musings. Come, 'tis bedtime; or do you
want to finish Sternberg's 'Herr von Mondschein'? It is _a propos_, and I
see your book is opened to the very place."

[To be continued.]

* * * * *

JAPAN.

The arrival in this country of an embassy from Japan, the first political
delegation ever vouchsafed to a foreign nation by that reticent and jealous
people, is now a topic of universal interest. It is well understood, that,
by the efforts of the government of the United States, the traditional
policy of Japan, which for more than two hundred years forbade all freedom
of intercourse with the surrounding world, has been so effectively
subverted that its reestablishment is now impossible. Within eight years
the barriers of Japanese seclusion have been removed, and the extreme
prejudice against foreign communications almost obliterated. That this has
been accomplished with a prudent and just regard for the rights and
feelings of this singular race, the appointment of an embassy to the
particular government which first successfully invaded its long cherished
privacy abundantly proves.

The countries of Japan and China, and everything directly concerning them,
have always claimed a peculiar consideration. Their self-imposed isolation,
the mystery with which they have sought to surround themselves, the
extraordinary habits and character of the people, the evidences of an
earlier civilization in China--formerly supposed also to have extended to
Japan--than is recorded of any other existing nation, account for the
curious attention that has been bestowed upon them. Although now known to
be entirely distinct, the Chinese and Japanese, by reason of the similarity
of their occupations, customs, religion, written language, dress, and so
forth, were for a long time looked upon as kindred races, and esteemed
alike. Probably even at this time popular appreciation makes little
distinction between the two countries. But since the necessities of
commerce have recently compelled a somewhat vigorous interference with
their seclusion, we begin to get a clearer understanding of the subject. We
find, that, while, on close examination, the imagined attractions of China
disappear, those of Japan become only more definite and substantial. The
old interest in China is transferred to its worthier neighbor; for, in
spite of all Celestial and Flowery preconceptions, it is impossible to view
with any sincere interest a nation so palsied, so corrupt, so wretchedly
degraded, and so enfeebled by misgovernment, as to be already more than
half sunk in decay; while, on the other hand, the real vigor, thrift, and
intelligence of Japan, its great and still advancing power, and the rich
promise of its future are such as to reward the most attentive study. Its
commanding position, its wealth, its commercial resources, and the quick
intelligence of its people--not at all inferior to that of the people of
the West, although naturally restricted in its development--give to Japan,
now that it is about to emerge from its chrysalis condition, and unfold
itself to the outer world, an importance far above that of any other
Eastern country.

We propose to relate, with necessary brevity, what is most important of the
little that is known of this interesting people. All records bearing upon
the subject are imperfect, and the best of them are more profuse in
speculation and surmise than in solid fact. The information possessed has
been drawn bit by bit from the reluctant Japanese. The difficulties of
investigation have been almost insurmountable,--no visitor, during two
hundred years, having been allowed the slightest freedom of association
with the people, or opportunity for travel. With very few exceptions,
foreigners have been confined to the extremest limit of the islands, and
forbidden even to leave the coast; and in no case has any disposition been
shown to satisfy the curious demands of those who have attempted to break
through the national reserve.

The origin of the Japanese is still involved in obscurity, and the date of
the settlement of the islands is unknown. The boldest theory is, that a
tribe proceeded thither directly from the land of Shinar, at the division
of the races. In support of this, the purity of the Japanese language,
which, in its primitive form, bears very slight affinity to any other
tongue, and the evident dissimilarity of the people to those of any other
Asiatic country, are adduced. The more general belief is, that the Japanese
are an offshoot of the Mongol family, and that their emigration to these
islands was at so remote a period that tradition has preserved no
recollection of it. The favorite idea, that the first settlements were by
Chinese, has long been set aside, except by the Chinese themselves, whose
custom is to claim the origin of everything, and who still assume to
consider Japan as a sort of province under their dominion. The fact is,
that, to the Japanese, a Chinaman is the most worthless and contemptible
object in Nature. The Chinese have, however, a fanciful legend in which
they find an irresistible argument upon their side of the question. A
certain Emperor, they say, seeking to prolong his life, demanded of the
court physician an elixir of immortality. The physician modestly declared
his ignorance of any such preparation, but, after receiving a significant
hint, involving the loss of his head, recollected himself, and acknowledged
that an herb of immortality did certainly exist, but that its delicacy was
so rare it could be properly culled only by the most chaste hands. He thus
succeeded in securing three hundred brave young men, and the same number of
virtuous young women, whose twelve hundred chaste hands were at once
consecrated to the plucking of the magical plant, which was declared to
grow only in the islands of the sea. Once out of the Emperor's reach, all
thought of the particular duty in hand was instantly abolished, and
superseded by a successful effort to establish a new nation, which in time
resolved itself into Japan.

This, although satisfactory to the Chinese, fails to convince less
credulous investigators. While the Japanese and Chinese have, perhaps, more
common characteristics than can be readily explained with our present
knowledge of them, yet no fact is better demonstrated than that they are
wholly distinct races. There is an opinion, for which there is reasonable
ground, that one of the earliest rulers of Japan was a Chinese invader, who
founded the dynasty of the Mikados, or Spiritual Emperors; but, if this
were so, it is evident that the conquerors must have mingled with the
native inhabitants, and soon lost their identity. This would in a measure
account for the prevalence of certain Chinese habits and customs in Japan.
The question of Japanese origin remains yet undecided. Its earlier history,
previous to the year 660 B.C., is mostly fabulous. There are the usual
legends of dignitaries in close relationship with every member of the solar
system, who were accustomed to reign an indefinite number of
years,--generally some thousands. Beginning with 660 B.C., we have
something authentic. At that time a warrior whose name signified "the
divine conqueror"--(the supposed Chinese invader)--entered Japan, and
assumed the control of its destinies. He called himself "Mikado," and
established his court at Miako, in Nipon, the largest of the group of
islands, where he built temples and palaces, both spiritual and
secular. Claiming to rule by divine right, he exercised the sole functions
of the government, which, upon his death, descended to his heir, and
thenceforward in direct order of succession. The Mikado, by reason of his
superhuman dignities, was invested with a sanctity that gradually became
irksome, shutting him out, as it did, from all fellowship with men, and
compelling him to forego all familiar intercourse with even the highest
nobles around his throne. Consequently arose the custom of abdication at a
very early age by the Mikados, in favor of their children, for whom they
acted as regents, circulating freely, upon their descent to mere mundane
authority, with the rest of the court. By this course, however, the
integrity of the government was weakened, and, dissensions arising, the
stability of the throne was endangered by the agressions of some of the
more powerful princes. In the twelfth century, it happened that a Mikado,
particularly alive to the vanities of the world, not only gave up his
station to his son, then three years old, but also renounced the labors of
the regency, which were intrusted to the infant monarch's grandfather,
whose first exercise of power was the immediate imprisonment of the
abdicator. This was worse than had been bargained for, and a contest
ensued, which terminated in favor of the ex-Mikado, owing to the valor of a
young warrior prince named Yoritomo. The prisoner was released, and himself
assumed the regency; but from that moment the strength of the Mikados was
gone. Yoritomo, having demonstrated that his power was superior to that of
the spiritual lord, demanded and obtained the rank and title of
"Ziogoon",--General, or General-in-Chief. He at first divided with the
Mikado the duties of the government, but by degrees succeeded in
concentrating in himself the real supremacy. From him descended the
temporal sovereignty of Japan, which has ever since overbalanced the
spiritual authority, although the first nominal rank is still accorded to
the Mikado.

In the year 1295, the existence of Japan was first announced to the Western
world. Marco Polo, returning from his Asiatic travels, related all that he
had learned of a vast island lying to the east of China, and even
designated its position on his maps. He called it Zipangu, the name he had
heard in China. This narration was not received with much credit, and was,
until the sixteenth century, generally forgotten. It is a singular fact,
that the record left by Marco Polo had a strong influence in deciding the
convictions of Christopher Columbus, whose expectation in sailing from
Spain was to discover the island spoken of by the Venetian voyager. But the
ambition of Columbus was otherwise satisfied, and Japan was not visited by
the representatives of any Western nation until the year 1543, or 1545,
when a party of Portuguese, among whom was Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, were
driven by a storm upon the coast, and forced to take shelter in the
province of Bungo, upon the island of Kiu-siu. The account of this visit,
given by Pinto, is full of interest, and, notwithstanding the questionable
character that clings to his writings, is without doubt correct in almost
every particular.

At the time when fortune threw these wanderers upon the Japanese coast,
there was disinclination to admit strangers, or to communicate with them in
the most liberal manner. They were warmly received, and treated with great
consideration. The same friendship appeared to animate both parties. The
Portuguese made presents of arms and ammunition to the Japanese, who, with
ready skill, soon discovered the methods of manufacturing others for
themselves. The Japanese consented that Portuguese commerce should be
introduced, and the King of Bungo authorized an annual visit from a
Portuguese ship. Thus commercial relations were established, and at the
same time a religious mission, led by St. Francis Xavier, was despatched to
Japan. The prospects of trade and the new principles of religion were
welcomed with equal readiness. The visitors were restricted in no manner
whatever. Converts to Christianity were almost without number. When Xavier
departed from Japan, in 1551, he left behind him thousands of ardent and
enthusiastic professors of his faith, and a religious sentiment that
promised speedily to extend its influences throughout the land.

The government openly encouraged the diffusion of Christianity. The Ziogoon
Nobanunga, who then reigned, having been importuned by native priests to
expel the foreign missionaries, inquired how many different religions there
were in Japan. "Thirty-five", was the reply. "Well," said he, "where
thirty-five sects can be tolerated, we can easily bear with
thirty-six. Leave the strangers in peace". Some of the most powerful
princes espoused the Christian religion, and about the year 1584, a
mission, consisting of two young Japanese noblemen, attended by two
counsellors of less rank, was sent to Rome by the subordinate kings of
Bungo and Arima, and the Prince of Omura, in testimony of the devotion of
those rulers. The people themselves hastened to the new faith with such
zeal as to win the warmest affections of all the missionaries who went
among them. Xavier wrote of them, "I know not when to cease, in speaking of
the Japanese; they are truly the delight of my heart."

So long as the mild teachings of Xavier and his Jesuit band prevailed, the
cause of Christianity advanced and prospered. But their field of labor was
soon invaded by multitudes of Dominicans and Franciscans from various
Portuguese settlements in Asia. By the persistent exercise of their best
faculties for mischief, these friars succeeded without much delay in
working irreparable injury where their predecessors had effected so much
good. They quarrelled, first among themselves, and then with the Jesuits,
until their strifes became the mockery of the people. The native priests of
the Siutoo and Buddhist religions took advantage of this state of things to
make a bold stand against the spread of the new doctrines. They organized a
force in the dominions of Omura, destroyed a Jesuit settlement and church,
and marched about in open rebellion against the authority of the
Prince. This movement, however, was checked without difficulty, and the
insurgents were overthrown in battle. The church was rebuilt at the place
now known as Nagasaki, which, an inferior village at that time, soon became
the centre of Portuguese commerce, and grew to great importance among
Japanese cities. But the friars continued their intrigues and tumults, in
spite of the growing contempt shown by the Japanese. Many of the Roman
clergy, moreover, assuming too great confidence in their easily gained
power, began to defy the usages of the country, and to adopt airs of
superiority quite at variance with the notions of the inhabitants upon that
subject. At the commencement of this altered condition of affairs, the
Ziogoon Nobanunga, who certainly was not unfavorably disposed to the
Christians, was assassinated, and his office and rank, after a series of
violent struggles, which lasted five years, fell to a man of humble origin,
but great talents, named Fide-yosi. This person had in his youth served
Nobanunga in the most menial capacity, but, owing partly to his remarkable
abilities, and partly to the circumstances which threw the succession into
so much confusion, he contrived to place himself, in the year 1587, at the
head of the nation. He then married the Mikado's daughter, and assumed the
name of Taiko-sama, with a view, perhaps, of dissociating himself as
completely as possible, in his exaltation, from the obscure individual
Fide-yosi, with whom, otherwise, he might not unnaturally be confounded.

The new Ziogoon cared very little for the operations of the Christians,
while they kept themselves free from interference in the political affairs
of the country, and respected its customs. But the offensive spirit of the
Portuguese laity was not to be repressed. Their manners grew more
intolerable, from year to year. In time the progress of conversion almost
ceased, and yet the Portuguese, blind to danger, disdained to retrace their
steps. At length the Ziogoon, having journeyed through that part of the
country mostly under Christian influences, suddenly determined to rid
himself of so dangerous an element, and issued an order for the expulsion
of all missionaries throughout the empire. This was resisted by some of the
converted nobles, and particularly by the young prince of Omura, whose
obstinacy was punished in a very summary way,--the Ziogoon seizing upon the
port of Nagasaki, and transferring it to his own immediate government. On
paying a heavy ransom, however, the prince was permitted to resume
authority in Nagasaki, and Taiko-sama, busily occupied with more important
affairs of state, neglected to enforce his decree of expulsion, and left
the Christians undisturbed for some years, until a new evidence of affront
once more aroused his indignation against them.

A Japanese nobleman and a Portuguese bishop, riding in their sedans, met,
one day, on a high-road of Nagasaki. The duty of the bishop, according to
the law of the country, was to alight and respectfully recognize the
nobleman. But, instead of doing this, he refused to tarry, and even turned
his head to the other side. Full of wrath, the nobleman made bitter
complaint to the Ziogoon, who from that time turned his heart more
resolutely than ever against the presumptuous and insolent foreigners. He
again assumed the direct government of Nagasaki, and was about to adopt
more vigorous measures, when he unexpectedly died, leaving the Christians a
few remaining years of probation.

Taiko-sama was undoubtedly the greatest monarch that ever reigned in Japan.
He succeeded in bringing for the first time into complete subjection the
numerous powerful princes who had previously held an almost undivided sway
in the larger provinces. By this means he consolidated the strength of the
nation, and was enabled to undertake some very brilliant conquests. A
letter sent by him to the Portuguese viceroy of Goa shows his own estimate
of his power, and his general opinion of the insignificance of the external
world.

"This vast monarchy," he wrote, "is like an immovable rock, and all the
efforts of its enemies will not be able to shake it. Thus not only am I at
peace at home, but persons come even from the most distant countries to
render me that homage which is my due. _Just now I am projecting the
subjugation of China;_ and as I have no doubt that I shall succeed in this
design, I trust that we shall soon be much nearer to each other.... As to
that which regards religion, Japan is the kingdom of the Kamis, that is to
say, of Xim, which is the principle of everything.... The [Jesuit] fathers
are come into these islands to teach another religion; but as that of the
Kamis is too well established to be abolished, this new law can only serve
to introduce into Japan a diversity of religion prejudicial to the welfare
of the state. That is why I have prohibited, by imperial edict, these
foreign doctors from continuing to preach their doctrine.... I desire,
nevertheless, that our commercial relations shall remain upon the same
footing."

In regard to the religion of Japan, which Taiko-sama lucidly and
felicitously expounds by pronouncing it the religion "of the Kamis,
[Princes, or Nobles,] that is to say, of Xim, which is the principle of
everything," it may be assumed that the Ziogoon had little thought of any
theological troubles that might arise. His apprehensions were purely of a
political nature. It is related that the captain of a Spanish man-of-war,
in attempting to explain the secret of the vast colonial possessions of
Spain, incautiously told Taiko that the introduction of Christianity into
heathen nations was the first step, and the only difficult one, conquest
naturally and easily following. Such an avowal was not likely to be lost
upon so acute a mind as Taiko's, and it may very probably have been one of
the immediate causes which induced his extreme hostility to the diffusion
of Christianity.

Taiko's warlike declarations were by no means vain boasts. He did invade
China, and spread such terror among the timid Celestials that they yielded
him all possible submission, giving him a number of Corean provinces, a
daughter of their Emperor in marriage, and the promise of an annual tribute
to Japan, in token of Japanese supremacy. The tribute not appearing at the
proper time, the Ziogoon immediately despatched a few armies to the Corea
and again destroyed the Celestial balance of mind. These forces, however,
were soon after recalled, in consequence of Taiko-sama's death.

During the first year of the reign of his successor, Ogosho-sama, the Dutch
appeared in Japan. A fleet of five ships, sent from Holland by the Indian
Company, had been dispersed in the Pacific, and, sickness breaking out
among the crews, only one ship remained. On board was an English pilot, a
man of some education, named William Adams, who suggested visiting Japan,
which was finally decided upon. In April, 1600, the Dutch vessel anchored
in the harbor of Bungo, and the crew were cordially received by the
people. But they found formidable enemies in the Portuguese and Spaniards
of Nagasaki, who assailed them with the most unjust aspersions, and
endeavored in every way to turn the prejudices of the Japanese against
them. Notwithstanding this, however, the Dutch were kindly treated,
although never permitted to leave the country again, on account of the
suspicions aroused by the imputations of the Portuguese. William Adams was
taken in charge by the Ziogoon himself, who found the Englishman so
valuable and instructive a person that he would never hear of his leaving
the imperial presence.

In 1609, other Dutch ships came to Japan, and, the scruples of the Ziogoon
having been set at rest, commercial relations were entered into. The Dutch
established a factory at Firando, in opposition to the Portuguese factory
at Nagasaki. A rivalry arose, heightened by the political and religious
feud between the nations, which was actively carried on for a number of
years. The Portuguese at first beset the Ziogoon with importunities for the
expulsion of the Dutch; but Ogosho-sama, in the most catholic spirit,
intimated, that, if devils from hell should take a fancy to visit his
realm, they should be treated like angels from heaven, so long as they
respected his laws.

In the midst of the jealous struggles of Dutch and Portuguese, came a new
application for Japanese favor. In June, 1613, a vessel, despatched for the
purpose by the English government, arrived at Firando, bearing letters and
presents from King James I. to the Ziogoon. These were graciously received,
and a commercial treaty of the most favorable character was at once
negotiated. Among other not less important privileges, the Ziogoon gave to
English merchants the following:--"Free license forever safely to come into
any of our ports of our Empire of Japan, with their ships and merchandise,
without any hindrance to them or their goods; and to abide, buy, sell, and
barter, according to their own manner with all nations; to tarry here as
long as they think good, and to depart at their pleasure"; also, "that,
without other passport, they shall and may set out upon the discovery of
Jesso or any other port in or about our Empire". The Ziogoon also sent a
letter, assuring the English monarch of his love and esteem, and announcing
that every facility desired in the way of trade would be gladly granted,
even to the establishment of a factory at Firando. A settlement was
accordingly made at that place, and commercial communications were
continued until about 1623, when they were voluntarily abandoned by the
English. It appears that their affairs were less successful than those of
the Dutch, who were stationed at the same port; but, whether from their own
misapprehension of the kind of merchandise needed for Japan, or from the
opposition of their rivals, who sought, in this case as in others, to
secure for themselves the monopoly of trade, is uncertain.

For some years after the departure of the English, the contests between the
Portuguese and Dutch grew more bitter and violent, and the arrogance of the
Portuguese more unbearable, until at length, in 1637, the climax of their
offences was reached, and the affections of the Japanese rulers, which, but
for their own follies, would always have been with them, were turned into
the most unrelenting hatred. The Portuguese, not content with the great
privileges they already enjoyed, formed a conspiracy with certain of the
native Christian princes to depose the Ziogoon, overturn the government,
and take the power into their own hands. Letters containing the details of
this plot were discovered by the Dutch, and straightway sent to the
monarch. The statement has been made by Spanish writers, that this
conspiracy had no existence excepting in Dutch invention, and that the
proofs of guilt were all forged for the purpose of more completely
destroying the Portuguese; but the evidence is too strong to be overthrown
by any such allegation. The result was, that imperial edicts were
immediately put forth, enjoining the expulsion of all Portuguese from the
islands, and the utter extirpation of the Christian religion. For nearly
two years there was a series of the most terrible persecutions. The
Portuguese were at length banished, and the native converts who rose in
rebellion against the decree were slaughtered by thousands, _the Dutch
themselves cooperating in the work of destruction_. The history of these
massacres is one of the most remarkable that the annals of Christianity can
show. It stands forever, an ineffaceable record, covering with shame those
pretended disciples of the religion of Christ, who by their reckless and
wicked course not only invited their own destruction, but compelled that of
thousands of innocent fellow-beings, and interrupted for centuries the
progress of the cause they had so poorly essayed to promote.

It is thus evident, that, for the system of seclusion which during nearly
two hundred and fifty years was closely adhered to, the Japanese themselves
are in no degree to be blamed. The fault lay with the representatives of
two refined and enlightened nations, who, by a persistent career of selfish
folly and pride, covered themselves with the deserved reproach of a people
to whose untutored apprehension such extraordinary principles of
civilization appeared unworthy of cultivation. That the Japanese were at
first amiably and liberally disposed toward foreigners, their frank
admission of the Portuguese, Spaniards, Dutch, and especially of the
English, amply shows. Until constrained for their own safety to do so, they
took no step toward interfering with the almost unlimited privileges they
had granted. It is, indeed, difficult to condemn their course, when we
consider the enormity of their provocation, and the dangers to which they
believed themselves exposed. If Christianity has suffered, the errors of
those who misrepresented it were the cause. How soon it may be possible to
again attempt its introduction is doubtful; for, of all foreign evils, the
Japanese look upon Christianity as the worst, viewing it simply as the
covert means of conquest, and reducing to submission those over whom its
influences extend.

Beyond the removal of their rivals, the Dutch had little upon which to
congratulate themselves in this movement. The monopoly of trade was theirs,
but with the most degrading and humiliating conditions. They were obliged
to give up their factory at Firando, and take a new station upon the small
island of Desima, in the harbor of Nagasaki. To preserve even the most
limited intercourse with the Japanese, they were forced to relinquish all
sense of dignity and self-respect. The history of their relations with
Japan, for the past two hundred years, is a continual record of absolute
contempt and pitiless constraint on the one hand, and the most abject and
disgraceful servitude on the other.

During the excitements which followed the expulsion of the Portuguese, a
second effort to enter Japan was made by the English; but, owing, it is
supposed, to the interference of the Dutch, this attempt was wholly
unsuccessful. In 1673, the East India Company despatched another vessel,
which was also received with distrust. The Japanese had learned, through
the Dutch, that the English king, Charles II., had allied himself by
marriage to the royal family of Portugal. On this account, and on this
only, the Japanese declared that no English ship could be admitted. Two
other equally fruitless attempts were made in 1791 and 1803. In 1808, an
English ship of war, by showing Dutch colors, gained entrance to the port
of Nagasaki, where, instead of peaceably deporting himself, the captain
began by capturing the Dutch officials who came on board, and setting at
defiance the requisitions of the Japanese. This English ship had been
cruising after the Dutch traders, England and Holland being at war at the
time, and, failing to meet them, the captain concluded they had eluded him,
and sought them at Nagasaki. A plan to attack the ship and burn it was
devised by the Japanese, but before it could be carried out the Englishman
had sailed. Conscious that his dignity was forfeited by this invasion, the
Japanese governor of Nagasaki, notwithstanding he was in no wise
censurable, in pursuance of the national custom, immediately destroyed
himself, and his example was followed by twelve of his subordinate
officers. The garrison of Nagasaki was reinforced, and the most warlike
attitude was assumed by the inhabitants, who are noted for their
courage. The affair caused great indignation, and is yet remembered to the
discredit of the English. In 1813, only five years later, a somewhat
similar stratagem was employed by the English. It was an ingenious scheme
on the part of the English governor of Java, which had, within a few years,
been ceded to England. The independence of Holland had ceased, and the
governor of Java undertook, by despatching English vessels under the Dutch
flag, to secure the trade which Holland had alone enjoyed. But the Dutch
director at Desima refused compliance, and the plan fell through. Three
other ventures, all resulting in the same way, were made by the English in
1814, 1818, and 1849.

Of other European nations, Russia alone has sought to secure a position and
influence in Japan. The proximity of the islands to the Siberian coast, and
the fact that they lie directly between the American and Asian possessions
of that nation, render it important that Russia should forego no
opportunity to extend its relations in this direction. It does not appear,
however, that much has been accomplished. About the year 1780, a Japanese
junk was wrecked upon an island belonging to Russia. The crew were taken to
Siberia, and there detained ten years, after which an attempt was made to
return them to their homes. They were conveyed in a Russian ship to
Hakodadi, on the island of Yesso, but were refused admission, on account of
the edict issued at the time of the Portuguese expulsion, forbidding the
return of any Japanese after once leaving the country. In 1804, a second
mission was sent by the Emperor Alexander I., with the purpose of effecting
a treaty of some sort; but the ambassador, whose name was Resanoff,
commenced operations by disputing points of etiquette with the Japanese,
who, in return, treated him with more courtesy than ever, and insisted upon
paying all his expenses while in their country, but sent him away
unsatisfied. Enraged at his failure, Resanoff despatched two armed vessels
to the Kurile Islands, where, under his directions, a wanton attack was
made upon a number of villages, the inhabitants being killed or taken
prisoners, and the houses plundered. This was an offence not to be
forgiven; and when, in 1811, Captain Golownin was despatched by the Russian
government to make renewed applications, he was captured by stratagem, with
one or two attendants, and imprisoned for several years. But he was always
treated with kindness, and was finally released, without having received
the slightest injury. He was intrusted, when sent away, with a message to
the Russian government, setting forth the impossibility of any
understanding between the two nations.

Previous to the expedition of Commodore Perry, few efforts to intrude upon
the Japanese had proceeded from the United States. An unsuccessful attempt
was made in 1837, by an American merchantman, to return a party of Japanese
who had been shipwrecked on our Western coast. In 1846, Commodore Biddle
was deputed to open negotiations, and entered the Bay of Yedo with two
ships of war. Receiving an unfavorable answer to his demands, he
immediately sailed away. In 1849, Commodore Glynn, having learned of the
imprisonment of sixteen American sailors, who had been driven ashore on one
of the Japanese islands, entered the harbor of Nagasaki with the United
States ship Preble, and demanded the release of his countrymen. For a time
a disposition was shown to evade his claim and to affect ignorance of the
alleged captivity; but upon his assuming a bolder and more determined tone,
the native officials became suddenly conscious of the state of affairs, and
forthwith delivered up the seamen. Commodore Glynn then set sail, and until
the visit of Commodore Perry, in 1853, the tranquillity of Japan was
disturbed by no American intrusion.

It may be observed, that, of the nations which up to this time had
undertaken to effect communications with Japan, all excepting the United
States had given reasonable cause for offence, and some of them for deep
enmity. The Dutch, though disliked, were tolerated; but the Portuguese,
Spanish, English, and Russians had forfeited the good opinion of the
islanders by their unprovoked and unjustifiable aggressions. It is not
improbable that the selection of the United States for their first foreign
embassy may have been induced by the consideration that the relations
between the Japanese and their American neighbors have always been pacific,
and that they have never suffered injustice or ill-treatment at our hands.

Meanwhile, until 1852, the Dutch had held exclusive commercial privileges
in Japan. In return for these, they submitted to all sorts of
indignities. They were restricted to the narrow limits of the artificially
constructed island of Desima, which is only six hundred feet in length, and
two hundred and forty in breadth. Here they were confined within high
fences fringed with spikes. Their houses were all of wood, no stone
buildings being permitted, undoubtedly with a view to preventing the
slightest chance of fortification. At the northern extremity of the island
was a large water-gate, which was kept continually closed, under a guard,
except upon the arrival of the Dutch vessels. These restrictions were in
great part continued almost to the present day, and many of them are still
in force. On the arrival of a Dutch ship, all the Bibles on board were
obliged to be put into a chest, which, after being nailed down, was given
in charge of the Japanese officials, to be retained by them until the time
of departure. All arms and ammunition, also, were required to be given
up. The crew, on landing at Desima, were placed under rigorous
surveillance, which was never relaxed. Even the permanent Dutch residents
received but little better treatment. They were unable to make any open
avowal of the Christian religion, and the Japanese officers who came in
contact with them were compelled to make frequent disavowals of
Christianity, and publicly to trample the cross, its symbol, under
foot. The island of Desima was infested with Japanese spies, whom the Dutch
were required to employ and pay as secretaries and servants, while knowing
their real office, If a Dutch resident aspired to occasional egress from
his prison, it was necessary to petition the governor of Nagasaki for the
privilege. As a general thing, the application was granted, but with such
conditions as to destroy all possibility of enjoyment; for, upon appearing
in Nagasaki, the unfortunate Dutchman was set upon by a band of spies and
policemen, who accompanied him wherever he turned and who were always
pleasantly inviting themselves to be entertained at his expense,--a
proposition which he was not at liberty to decline. These spies gradually
got into the habit of taking with them as many of their acquaintances as
they could gather together, until the cost of a stroll about Nagasaki
became too heavy to be endured. But there was no remedy; he must either pay
or stay at home; and even upon these extravagant terms, he was not allowed
to enter any Japanese house, or to remain within the city after sunset. For
the rare favor of visiting the residence of a native Nagasakian, a special
petition was needed, and if granted, the number of spies on such an
occasion was multiplied at a most appalling rate. The Dutch were, moreover,
forbidden the companionship of their own countrywomen, and only the most
degraded female class of Nagasaki were allowed to visit them. In every way
they were forced to acknowledge their inferiority and undergo deprivations
and mortifications, for which, let us hope, they succeeded in finding some
compensation in the scant privileges of their trade.

At length the time arrived when the reluctant Japanese were to be taught
the uselessness of further efforts to resist the advances of other
nations. In November, 1852, an expedition, long contemplated and carefully
prearranged, set sail from the United States under the command of Commodore
M.C. Perry. Although this mission was the subject of much discussion
abroad, no very general hope of its success was expressed. The opinion
appeared to be, that, under all circumstances, Japan would still continue
locked in its seclusion. The result proved how easily, by the exercise of
firmness, prudence, and energy, all of which Commodore Perry displayed in
every movement, the much desired end could be accomplished. The secret of
two hundred years was solved in a day. The path once opened, there were
plenty to follow it: Russia, England, and France were quick to share the
benefits which had in the first place been gained by the United States. But
thus far the best fruits of Japanese intercourse have fallen to the United
States, and it seems clear that only a continuance of the same ability
hitherto shown in the management of our affairs with that nation is needed
to preserve to this country the superior advantages it now holds.

On the 8th of July, 1853, Commodore Perry, with two steamers and two
sloops-of-war, entered the Bay of Yedo, having purposely avoided the port
of Nagasaki, at which all strangers had previously been accustomed to hold
communications with the government. In this, as in other movements, the
Commodore acted independently of much opposing counsel. By first visiting
the Loo-choo and Bonin islands, which are under Japanese control, and
mostly peopled by Japanese, he had acquired a considerable knowledge of the
character of those with whom he was to deal, and had been enabled to trace
for himself a policy which the result proved to be eminently just and
effective. He determined boldly to insist upon, rather than to beseech, the
privileges he had been deputed to gain. Understanding perfectly the
vexatious and embarrassing expedients by which the Japanese had been
accustomed to hamper and resist the endeavors of even the best-disposed of
their visitors, he resolved to listen to no suggestions of delay, and to
push vigorously forward with his mission, in spite of every obstacle their
wily ingenuity could oppose to him. Their assumptions of exclusiveness and
superiority he met by precisely the same sort of display, allowing no
familiarity on the part of the natives until all was definitely settled as
he desired, and intrenching himself in a mysterious seclusion which rather
exceeded even their own notions of personal dignity. Until one of the first
noblemen in the nation was sent to treat with him, the Commodore shunned
all intercourse with the people, and systematically refused to expose
himself to the profane eyes of the multitude. This unusual course took the
Japanese quite by surprise, and, not without some feeling of trepidation,
they bestirred themselves with unexampled alacrity to satisfy, so far as
they were able, his reasonable demands. Of course it was impossible for
them to set aside all their prejudices, and the record of their schemes to
impede the Commodore's progress, all of which were quietly overcome by his
firmness and decision, is equally amusing and instructive.[1] At the moment
of his entering the Bay of Yedo, he was surrounded by guard-boats, and
saluted with various warnings of peril, which might have deterred a less
resolute man. But, wholly indifferent to Japanese guard-boats, he sent out
his own for surveying purposes without hesitation, taking it for granted
that perfect fearlessness would secure the crews from molestation. In
answer to the remonstrances received at the outset, he simply pushed still
farther up the bay, until, finding it impossible to obtain compliance with
their requirements, the Japanese concluded to yield to his; and after as
much hesitation as the Commodore thought proper to give them opportunity
for, the letters from President Fillmore were received by the Emperor, or
Tycoon,[2] negotiations were opened, and, finally, a treaty, yielding all
the important points that had been asked for, was agreed upon. This treaty
proclaimed "a perfect, permanent, and universal peace, and a sincere and
cordial amity", between the two nations; designated certain ports where
American ships should obtain supplies; promised protection to American
seamen who should chance to be shipwrecked on the coast; and contained the
important stipulation, that no further privileges should be vouchsafed to
any other government except on condition of their being fully shared by the
United States.

[Footnote 1: The details are to be found in the _Narratives of the
Expedition_, by Francis L. Hawks, D.D., LL.D., published by Congress at
Washington, in 1856.]

[Footnote 2: As will be shown hereafter, the military functions of the
temporal ruler long ago ceased, and the title of Tycoon has been
substituted for that of Ziogoon.]

The communications between Commodore Perry and the Japanese were carried on
in the most friendly manner. While the Commodore allowed no interference
with what he regarded as his own rights in the case, he was careful to
check any disposition on the part of his officers to defy those of the
islanders. Thus the utmost cordiality was preserved throughout. The
Japanese received the presents from the American government with delight,
and were quite overcome at the sight of the steam-engine and the magnetic
telegraph. A series of agreeable entertainments followed the signing of the
treaty, in which the Japanese showed themselves especially alive to the
civilizing influences of foreign cookery, and appreciation of such
refinements as whiskey and Champagne, to whose beneficent influences they
gave themselves up with ardor. Commodore Perry, on his departure, after
freely visiting various Japanese ports, was intrusted with a number of
presents for the American government, and entreated to bear with him the
assurance of entire confidence and amity.

In August, 1853, subsequently to the arrival of Commodore Perry, a Russian
squadron visited Nagasaki, but, after protracted negotiations, departed
without obtaining a treaty. In September, 1854, Admiral James Stirling, on
behalf of the English government, effected a treaty at Nagasaki, the terms
of which were rather less liberal and advantageous than those granted to
the United States. But the inevitable result of Commodore Perry's success
could not long be delayed. Since the time of his mission, the governments
of France, England, Holland, and Russia have secured treaties guarantying
important privileges. It appears, however, that the superiority of
influence remains with the United States, owing, in a measure, no doubt, to
the excellent abilities of the Consul-General, Mr. Townsend Harris, who has
permitted no opportunity to escape of pressing the claims of his
government. As early as July, 1858, he negotiated a fair commercial
treaty. Mr. Harris is the only foreigner who was ever permitted to enter
the palace of the Tycoon of Japan without the degrading forms of submission
formerly exacted from the Dutch. He was received there with every
testimonial of respect. At a time when Mr. Harris was seriously ill, the
Tycoon despatched his own physician to attend him, while her Majesty
continually sent him the most delicate preparations of food, the work of
her own imperial hands. The ease with which the missions of Lord Elgin and
Baron Gros,[1] in 1858, were accomplished, may fairly be attributed to the
effects already produced by American influences. It was through
Mr. Harris's exertions that the Japanese embassy to this government was
secured. The English government endeavored to obtain first this important
mark of recognition, but, as it appears, unsuccessfully.

[Footnote 1: Mr. Oliphant's account of Lord Elgin's expedition (_Narrative
of the Earl of Elgin's Mission_, etc., by Lawrence Oliphant, Esq.) is one
of the most valuable contributions from Japan. His observations, which at
Yedo were more extended and unimpeded than those of any preceding visitor,
are recorded in the most lively and charming manner. The history of the
embassy of Baron Gros (_Souvenirs d'une Ambassade en Chine et au Japon_,
par le Marquis de Moges) is less complete and entertaining, but by no means
destitute of interest.]

At the present moment, all seems favorable for the development of the long
hidden resources of the Empire. But there are still difficulties in the
way; for a powerful class of nobles, those who trace their descent from the
ancient spiritual dynasty, are strongly opposed to the overthrow of the old
system. It is only by constant struggles that the more progressive class
can make way against them. The arrival of this embassy, and the recent
visit of a Japanese ship to California, are hopeful signs; for these could
have been permitted only on the abrogation of the old law of seclusion,
proclaimed at the time of the Portuguese expulsion; and such are the
peculiar principles of the Japanese government, that, as will hereafter be
shown, an important law like this cannot be revoked without a general
change of its policy. Within the city of Yedo are now the representatives
of three powerful nations, England, France, and the United States; others
are seeking admission; and the period when Japan shall mingle freely with
the world it has so long affected to contemn can hardly be long deferred.

In a future number we shall speak of the present condition of Japan, the
forms of government, so far as known, its social state and prospects, and
the character of the people, as represented in the embassy which is now
receiving the hospitalities of our own government.

* * * * *

THE VINEYARD-SAINT.

She, pacing down the vineyard walks,
Put back the branches, one by one,
Stripped the dry foliage from the stalks,
And gave their bunches to the sun.

On fairer hill-sides, looking south,
The vines were brown with cankerous rust,
The earth was hot with summer drouth,
And all the grapes were dim with dust.

Yet here some blessed influence rained
From kinder skies, the season through;
On every bunch the bloom remained,
And every leaf was washed in dew.

I saw her blue eyes, clear and calm;
I saw the aureole of her hair;
I heard her chant some unknown psalm,
In triumph half, and half in prayer.

"Hail, maiden of the vines!" I cried:
"Hail, Oread of the purple hill!
For vineyard fauns too fair a bride,
For me thy cup of welcome fill!

"Unlatch the wicket; let me in,
And, sharing, make thy toil more dear:
No riper vintage holds the bin
Than that our feet shall trample here.

"Beneath thy beauty's light I glow,
As in the sun those grapes of thine:
Touch thou my heart with love, and lo!
The foaming must is turned to wine!"

She, pausing, stayed her careful task,
And, lifting eyes of steady ray,
Blew, as a wind the mountain's mask
Of mist, my cloudy words away.

No troubled flush o'erran her cheek;
But when her quiet lips did stir,
My heart knelt down to hear her speak,
And mine the blush I sought in her.

"Oh, not for me," she said, "the vow
So lightly breathed, to break erelong;
The vintage-garland on the brow;
The revels of the dancing throng!

"To maiden love I shut my heart,
Yet none the less a stainless bride;
I work alone, I dwell apart,
Because my work is sanctified.

"A virgin hand must tend the vine,
By virgin feet the vat be trod,
Whose consecrated gush of wine
Becomes the blessed blood of God!

"No sinful purple here shall stain,
Nor juice profane these grapes afford;
But reverent lips their sweetness drain
Around the table of the Lord.

"The cup I fill, of chaster gold,
Upon the lighted altar stands;
There, when the gates of heaven unfold,
The priest exalts it in his hands.

"The censer yields adoring breath,
The awful anthem sinks and dies,
While God, who suffered life and death,
Renews His ancient sacrifice.

"O sacred garden of the vine!
And blessed she, ordained to press
God's chosen vintage, for the wine
Of pardon and of holiness!"

* * * * *

THE PROFESSOR'S STORY.

CHAPTER XI.

COUSIN RICHARD'S VISIT.

The Doctor was roused from his reverie by the clatter of approaching
hoofs. He looked forward and saw a young fellow galloping rapidly towards
him.

A common New-England rider with his toes turned out, his elbows jerking and
the daylight showing under him at every step, bestriding a cantering beast
of the plebeian breed, thick at every point where he should be thin, and
thin at every point where he should be thick, is not one of those noble

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