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Ebook has 584 lines and 68525 words, and 12 pages

THE MOTHER'S JEWEL.

"These are my gems," the Roman mother cried, Her bright lip wreathed in smiles of sunny pride, "These are my gems," as o'er each infant head Superbly fond her high-born hands she spread; This, with dark eyes, and hyacinthine flow Of raven tresses down a neck of snow-- That, golden-haired, with orbs whose azurn hue Had dimmed the Indian sapphire's deathless blue. "These are my gems! bring ye the rarest stone, "That ever flashed from Eastern tyrants' throne! "Bring amber, such as those sad sisters gave, "Vain bribes to still the rash relentless wave! "Bring diamonds, such as that false matron wore, "Bought by their sheen to break the faith she swore, "Who lured to death foredoomed her prophet lord, "To death more certain than the Theban sword,-- "Bring gauds, like those which caught Tarpeia's eye, "Fated beneath her treason's price to die!-- "And I will match them--yea! their worth outvie "With that, nor art can frame, nor treasure buy, "Nor force subdue, nor dungeon walls control-- "Each precious gem--a freeborn Roman soul! "Know ye not, how--when quaked the solid earth, "And shook the seven hills, as at Titan's birth,-- "When the proud forum yawned--a gulf so wide "Rome's navy in its space secure might ride-- "When pale-eyed prophets did the fate declare, "That dread abyss should yawn for ever there, "Till Rome's best jewel, darkly tombed within, "The gods should soothe, and expiate the sin!-- "Know ye not, how their robes of Syrian hue "To the sad King the trembling matrons threw? "What flower-crowned captives bled, the abyss to close? "What Syrian perfumes from the brink arose? "What sculptured vases of barbaric gold, "What trophied treasures, through its void were rolled? "What sunbright gems--onyx and agate rare, "And deathless adamant--were scattered there? "But not in gold, nor gems, nor Tyrian die, "Trophies, nor slaves, did Rome's best treasure lie! "His limbs superb in war's triumphant guise, "His soul's high valor flashing from his eyes, "His courser chafing, impotently bold, "Against the hand that well his fire controlled, "Forth! forth he rode, in native worth sublime, "Unstained by fetters, ignorant of crime! "Forth! forth he rode, to play the martyr's part-- "Rome's richest jewel--a right Roman heart "'So may the gods avert my country's doom, "'I rush in triumph to my living tomb! "'Rome hath no jewel worthier earth's embrace, "'Than one free warrior of her fearless race!-- "'Fearless I come and free!--Accept the gift, "'Dark Hades!'--leaped the youth--and closed the rift-- "And rolled the cloudless thunder--Jove's assent "That Rome's best jewel to the abyss was sent! "These are my gems! Each for his country's weal "Devote to raging fire, or rending steel-- "So long to live--so soon to die--as she-- "She only!--shall determine and decree!-- "Blest that I am, to call such jewels mine-- "All else to fate contented I resign; "Contented--if they mount the curule chair, "Its best adornment--I shall view them there! "Contented--if they fill a timeless grave-- "Their wounds--their wounds of honor--I shall lave! "Secure in each event, Cornelia's race "Shall live with glory--die without disgrace! "Secure, that neither--even in hopeless strife-- "Shall turn upon his heel to save his life! "Secure, that neither--heaven itself to buy-- "A foe shall flatter, or a friend deny! "These are my gems!--Give ye your country such-- "So shall ye put your vauntings to the touch-- "Or, yielding me the palm, your boast disown-- "Your diamonds may not match what I have shown!"

SWEET STREAM.

Sweet stream, that from the thickets free, Comest dancing in thy mountain glee-- The thirsty traveller's smiling friend-- To my reproachful plaint attend.

The time's long past, since here I laid My limbs beneath the green-tree's shade; Yet grateful on thy waves I look, Nor e'er forget my favorite brook.

I am changed, sweet stream, and sadly changed, Since mid these verdant fields I ranged. I've proved the world, and learned how few Of Hope's beguiling dreams were true.

And now I fain to thee would fly For sympathy which men deny-- Yet heed'st thou not my spirit's pain! Even here my weary search is vain.

Why nourish still this turf of green? These flowers my early joys have seen Why linger yet soft breezes here, As when they dried no falling tear?

And thou, in freshness glancing by, Dost pause not for the wanderer's sigh! Thy current which no murmur hears, Flows swifter for my added tears.

STANZAS.

BY MISS ELIZABETH M. ALLISON.

Again, in this lone hour, I snatch my lyre, O'er which the chain of silence long has lain, To wake once more the too neglected strain; Ah! could I touch it with immortal fire, And pour the burning melody of song In one full tide its thrilling chords along.

Alas! from me has fled the power of song, That once flung its deep crimson sun-like glow Of promise, o'er my path of life below, In deep-toned visions, such as not belong To things of earth, but float with forms of air In the bright realms of space like houri's fair.

But see, again what spells around me lour,-- Forms such as Dante pictured in that hell, His proud soul bursting in his lone farewell From exiled Florence, flash my view before: With Tasso's heroes armed in holy fight, Or Ariosto's bower for nymph and errant-knight.

Thou too! to whom a poet's fire was given, And all a poet's quenchless thirst of fame, Quick kindling fancies, half of air and flame, Passions and feelings born but to be riven, What though denied to vent in verse their force In poesy was their impassioned source.

Change we the chords, and wake another strain; Too high aspirings in my bosom swell, As spirits hallowed each by the bright spell Of burning poesy come o'er my brain, Till every nerve with o'er wrought feeling fraught, Throbs with a pained intensity of thought.

Why was my soul thus proudly taught to soar? Why were these visions wakened in my breast, These wild ambitionings that mar its rest, Scathing, as if with fire, its inmost core, With bright imaginings of other sphere Launched from their former source; what do they here?

Ah! if the muse bestowed them but in vain, Meaning them ne'er to glow to deeds of fire, But sent like lightnings, in their fatal flame To sear all verdure from the smiling plain! Take back the power of song, the Muses' fire, And grant that bliss which humbler themes in spire.

THE WOULD-BE-GENTEEL LADY.

BY MRS. CHARLES SEDGWICK.

In such a country as ours--a country of "workies"--where there exists no privileged class, falsely so called, unless idleness and ennui are privileges, one might suppose that a passion for gentility would be confined to the fashionable circles of the city; that the bees would as soon be found giving preference to fashionable flowers, or aiming at a fashionable style of architecture in their hives, as the busy matrons and maidens of New England, for instance, directing their thoughts, mainly, to genteel modes of living, dressing, and behaving.

Thus it is with fashion, the handmaid of gentility; who has been well described as a jade that stalks through one country with the cast-off clothes of another; and the modes and forms of gentility are as variable as the wayward humors of those vacant-minded people who lead the fashion.

There is one indispensable condition of absolute gentility, in the popular sense, which very few in our country can command, viz. an exemption from labor; and a hard condition it is--not for those who lose caste on its account, but for those who, by fulfilling it, acquire caste. God made us to be active in mind and body--he gave a spring to universal being--and standing water is the fit emblem of a stagnant life. But even those to whom this exemption may seem desirable, cannot enjoy it, generally speaking, in our country.

But, notwithstanding this serious obstacle, nowhere, we are assured, is there such a strife for gentility, as in this country, where every other strife most incompatible with that, is perpetually carried on.

And how soon is the infection caught by foreigners who come among us! The sturdy German girl, although she may not immediately reject her national peasants' costume of stout cotton stripe, and foot-gear adapted to the out-of-door work she has been accustomed to, will be very likely to surmount all with a "tasty" silk hat. All this may be very agreeable as a proof of prosperity; but it must be remembered that prosperity without discretion, is as unprofitable as zeal without knowledge.

We laugh at these demonstrations in our inferiors, without considering that we are guilty of absurdities quite as palpable to those in another rank from ourselves. It is said that ladies of moderate fortune in America, dress far more expensively than those of a corresponding rank in Europe; that we indulge in many expensive articles of dress which they would not think of wearing.

I once knew a lady with whom the passion for gentility amounted almost to a disease. It seemed, in her, an innate propensity, or, at least, it was very difficult to account for it. Born in an obscure country village, not entitled, either by her rank in life, character, education, or circumstances, to take precedence of her compeers, she nevertheless very early began to assume airs of great consequence, on account of superior notions in regard to gentility. Probably, feeling the desire which all have for consequence, and having nothing else to build it upon, she had recourse to extraordinary precision in various points of dress and bearing, in which she vainly imagined gentility chiefly to consist.

Her father was a shop-keeper, or, as we are accustomed to say, a merchant, doing business on a small scale; both her parents were uneducated, ignorant and small-minded people, but simple and unassuming. Her ideas of gentility, therefore, had been principally derived from novels, and from intercourse with some of her companions who had enjoyed a privilege she greatly coveted, but could not be allowed, of a six months' residence at a city boarding-school.

My heroine, in order to effect this favorite object, had recourse to means which I should not like to specify, but which are only too familiar, I fear, to many of her sex--until her health became so seriously impaired that she was, all her life, a sufferer in consequence.

Her mother, as mothers are apt to be, was exceedingly indulgent to her, and although herself obliged to strain every nerve in order to bring up comfortably and respectably a large family, upon very limited means, seldom obliged her to put her shoulder to the burden. If it did sometimes happen that she was inevitably called upon to do other than some of the "light work" of the family, a flood of tears washed out the disgraceful stain. She had, therefore, the privilege of preserving her hands white, while her mother's wore the vulgar aspect and complexion of hard drudgery. And yet this abominable selfishness was not the "original sin" of her nature; it was the result of her mind being diseased on the subject of gentility.

But it was not until her marriage, when she became Mrs. William Rutherford, and attained to the dignity of a housekeeper and matron, that her passion was fully developed. This was one of those marriages brought about, as many are said to be, "by juxta-position." William Rutherford, the son of a farmer, a plain, sensible, energetic young man, who had, very honorably to himself, made his own way in the world, studied in a lawyer's office overlooking a garden in which our heroine often strayed.

The sight of a pretty girl walking among the flowers, was an agreeable variety to one whose vision rested many hours in the day upon the grave-looking, monotonous pages of a law-book. He sometimes joined her, and she gave him flowers, for which, without any reference to its being genteel or ungenteel to like them, she had a genuine admiration; and a jar that stood upon his study table was daily supplied from her hand. She was rather pretty, excessively neat in her appearance, and seemed always amiable.

Mrs. Rutherford had too much of the instinct of a New England woman not to make a good housekeeper. She had profited by the lessons received from her notable mother, albeit an unwilling and truant pupil. She was excessively nice in her habits, and would have her house in order even at the cruel sacrifice of vulgar personal exertions; but these were kept secret as possible from neighbors and visitors.

An unfortunate visit which she made, the first year of her marriage, to a cousin who had married a wealthy merchant in New York, greatly enlarged her ideas on the subject of gentility. She had previously set her heart upon a watch, as one of the ensignia, but now she had in addition constantly before her eyes, in distant perspective, a Brussels carpet, hair sofa, mahogany chairs, and silver forks. These, though constituting a small part of her cousin's splendor, were almost unknown articles in the village where she lived, and, therefore, would be sufficient to distinguish her.

Although her husband was a thriving lawyer, and had his fair proportion of the business done in the county, yet his income was moderate; and having amassed no property previous to his marriage, it was necessary that in all his arrangements, he should have reference to economy. Great pains were, therefore, necessary on the part of Mrs. Rutherford to secure these objects of her ambition. Never did a politician keep more steadily in view what are supposed to be the politician's aim, office and power--never did the military hero keep his eye more steadfastly fixed upon the wreaths of victory with which he hoped to grace his brow, than did Mrs. Rutherford upon her hair sofa, Brussels carpet, mahogany chairs, and silver forks. For these she lived, and for these she would have done any thing--but die. There is, alas! no fashionable furniture for the grave; it has no privilege save that of rest to the weary. The folly of "garnering up one's heart" in the cunning but perishable works of man's device, in outward show, is very striking when exhibited on so small a scale; magnificence covers up the folly to many eyes.

Objects pursued with such steady determination are almost sure to be gained in time. Mrs. Rutherford practised great economy with reference to their attainment, and although her husband had a far juster sense of the right use of property, and had no taste for making more show than his neighbors--what will not a quiet, peace-loving man do, that he can do, to tranquilize the restless, unsatisfied spirit of his wife?

Poor Rutherford was a much enduring man. If during the sitting of the court, he invited some brother lawyers to dine with him, there being but an hour's adjournment, and the dinner failed to appear seasonably, no earthly consideration would have induced his wife to leave the room and inquire into the reason of the delay--and still less to do what she might toward preventing its further continuance: because it would be ungenteel for the lady of the house not to be sitting in state with her guests--and horribly vulgar to be supposed conversant with the mysteries of the kitchen.

But, notwithstanding her extreme anxiety to do the honors of her house, in what she supposed the most approved manner, she was utterly incapable of performing the most important, dignified, and graceful part of the duty of a hostess,--that of contributing to the intellectual entertainment of her guests. In fact, she was deplorably ignorant. To give a single example: The conversation falling one day upon old English poetry, a gentleman said to her, "I believe, Mrs. Rutherford, that Pope is not so great a favorite with the ladies as formerly." "I don't know, indeed, sir," she replied; "was he a novelist? Scott is the favorite novelist now, I believe."

I said that by degrees Mrs. Rutherford attained all her objects. I beg her pardon--the silver forks were still wanting to her complete happiness. Against these her husband took his stand with the determination of a desperate man. He said they were very proper for those to use who were born with silver spoons in their mouths--very proper for those who could afford them; but for a young man in his circumstances, the introduction of such an article into his establishment would be perfectly preposterous--that silver forks would be a poor inheritance to his daughter, provided he left her nothing to eat with them. It was so very unusual for her husband to oppose her, that Mrs. Rutherford knew his opposition was not impulsive--not lightly resolved upon; and she yielded to it submissively.

The child was of course included in the mother's plans of gentility. She was not suffered to attend school for fear she should contract vulgarity from her schoolmates. Great pains were bestowed upon her dress; and as what is deficient in money must be made up in time, there was a most lavish expenditure of what is still more valuable than money. Then she was prevented, as far as possible, from doing any thing for herself.

This last point, however, was difficult of accomplishment. Little Caroline herself was an extremely smart, active, capable child; and such a one, who feels the energy stirring within her, cannot well be prevented, in such a very unartificial state of things as exists in a village family, from exerting it.

It is not often that a child derives benefit from her mother's absurdities; but Caroline Rutherford was an exception. The very opposition she met with confirmed all her natural tendencies to rationality; and, in consequence of her being excluded from the schools, her father took great pains with her education, while her mother paid a degree of attention to her manners; which, though it could not render her formal, had the effect to make her considerate and attentive. She grew up, therefore, a very pleasing, lovely girl.

When she was about the age of fourteen, a very exciting event occurred in their quiet village. A gentleman of fortune, who had determined to remove into the country, attracted by its healthy and picturesque location, selected it for his future residence, and purchased a place very near the dwelling of Mr. Rutherford.

This circumstance was rejoiced in by no one so much as by Mrs. Rutherford; and would have gone far toward compensating her for the want of silver forks, except that it made her feel the need of them so much the more; because, "how could she invite Mr. and Mrs. Garrison to dine without them?"

She lost no time in calling upon her new neighbors, choosing for that purpose the latest hour compatible with the country dining hour. She had previously arrayed herself in the manner she deemed most befitting the occasion; that is, most calculated to recommend her to Mrs. Garrison as a person of undoubted gentility, viz: with a dress of Gros de Berlin, a French cape, silk stockings, etc., etc.

To her surprise, she found Mrs. Garrison in a simple gingham morning dress, superintending the nailing down of a carpet; for her house was not yet in order. She received Mrs. Rutherford, however, in a very easy manner, conducting her to an adjoining apartment; and thus, after the usual preliminaries, was the turn given by the latter to the conversation.

"I quite pity you, Mrs. Garrison, for having chosen a residence in the country."

"Pity me, indeed! I thought all people who lived in the country were fond of it. Is it not so with you?"

"O yes! I am very fond of flowers, and I think the country more healthy than town; but then we have such trouble with our servants. Such a thing as a man-cook is quite out of the question. I often tell my husband that there would be some sense, and some pleasure in having one's friends to dine with you, if one could have a man-cook."

"A man-cook, indeed!" replied Mrs. Garrison. "I did not know that such an appendage was ever thought of in the country. It is far from being common in town; and for myself, I have never employed one. If I can get good women I shall be entirely satisfied."

This last expression led Mrs. Garrison to suspect that she had been quite accustomed "to take hold" notwithstanding.

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