Puslapio vaizdai

finds himself at last washed ashore on the flowery Bank of lonely Island. But he now felt as if he had been washed by the Waves from the Shore out into the cold Sea! Nothing was awanting; every thing was arranged for him in a comfortable and friendly manner. Clean Linen lay every Morning spread out on his chair; his Clothes were brushed and free from every Speck of Dust; he rose, and went to sleep, whenever he liked; he looked at the People out of the Window; he went wherever he pleased. Oppressive Freedom! To every thing he was indifferent, all within him was so still and so monotonous! What was there here for him to love? To whom had he here every hour something to forgive? Who was there here to make him sorry? He felt the sweet Power of Custom even in what is most bitter! He felt that Words are nothing, however mild and reverential they may sound, if the Soul of Love does not glow and breathe upon us through them. And in Agnes's Words -- which he now missed in his solitary condition — there was the Soul of a faithful Love, which was never weary in busying itself with him, in being angry at herself and at him, during the whole course of an irritable Existence! Ah! it was impossible for an indifferent Heart so to do — for it has neither the Will nor the Power to injure! And he loved her— therefore he could not be injured hy her! And thus the feeling of his Love to her was quite enough for him, and Life without her difficult, much more difficult to bear! Ah! we love perhaps a lively Child, and think it impossible that our Love for it can increase ! But it becomes sick — and we then know, for the first time, how much more intensely and also painfully we can love it! Then do r.ew and more delicate Tendrils unfold themselves as it were in our Hearts, with which we encompass it as Ivy does a balf-fallen Statue. And if Agnes's Love for him was of the most extraordinary kind, still she loved him for all that! That was the chief point. Her Love was like the warm Sunbeam, shining in the Window of a Dome through a fiery-red Ruby Glass, which, corroded by damp, reflects with its own also the varied hues of the Rainbow. And — Caprice is never without a Cause, and may not that cause be Disease? And does not Disease call for pity? Alas! this, then, was what he could no longer endure! And was that just? It is the greatest, the most injurious Wrong, not to believe in Nature ?

“Here, far away from her, he had intended to work — at so many things, and so busily! But his Thoughts were far away with her - banished to her! Yet when he was with her, when she was wandering around him, then they could rove in the distance, could dwell where Thoughts and Images appear as in a Heavenly Dome full of Music and Incense, from which the Artist steals them as it were for the Earth. Here, dwelling in Leyden, his Sadness increased; he felt he could not be so happy anywhere as near his Wife; yea, that it was only when he was with her that he was truly happy. There are Conditions in which the Endurable, the Imperfect is the best possible for us; and the Human Race is continually subjected to such a Condition. Do we desire a better or happier Fate? God forbid! Every thing that is ours is the best for us ; for we choose perhaps our own Lot; but what we have chosen keeps us enclosed as in Walls of Steel all our lives — and for as much better as the Untried appears to us, still we can never attain to it, because we ourselves are already become Property. Let us therefore endure ! let us be faithful!

" He was now in a condition to perceive wherein he also had crred! And Man never attains Tranquillity, as long as he believes that he is right in all his Thoughts and Actions towards all the World! But as soon as he begins to doubt, as soon as he once admits the pre-supposition that he may have gone

that he must take himself to task — then come Reconciliation with the World, Contentment and Peace, and with recognition of the Truth, and acknowledgment of his own Error, come also at last by degrees Satisfaction and Happiness to his Heart, which always speaks Truth to the Upright."

So Albert journeys homeward. “It was on the evening of St. John's day that Albert arrived at the fruitful fields near Nüremberg."

[ocr errors]



Albert intended to wait for the Twilight. His Thoughts swarmed forth, like Bees out of a Hive, when borne home from a strange Pasturage; they hovered around Flowers, blooming Linden-Trees, and golden Clouds, and his Soul began to muse, ils in the first bright season of Youth. He ascended a Hill close by, from which he had a View of the Road. The Lindens towered aloft; the well-known Stone-bench was concealed by the waving Corn, in which the note of the Quail was heard. He now advanced His Heart beat; he saw two Females sitting, one leaning to the right and the other to the left. He approached softly - they slept! The one in the golden Hood and the blue Dress was – his Agnes ! The other, in the simple white Dress and Veil, on which shone the rosy lustre of the setting Sun – was Clara!

" Both had come out to meet him. Agnes wished, perhaps, by the presence of the other, to moderate Albert's Tears, or her own Words, and to shew him at the same time that she was reconciled, that she was tolerant, that she would endure and love, what he did not hate !

“ He stood, and gazed upon them both in silence. What a Sight! What Thoughts!

“ They did not awake, nor did he wish to wake them. He sat down at last between them, looked and mused, and, wearied as he was, he also fell into a Slumber.

" When he awoke, he perceived that his Head was resting gently on Clara's Shoulder – for the golden Hood to the left was gone. Agnes had waked first; she had seen him then in that position, in which he had found himself, resting -on her Friend, not on her — she had thought – Ah! she was gone! The saffron haze of Evening was now broad and faint on the Horizon - therefore she must have been long gone — Poor Soul ! said he aloud !

Clara awoke. Poor So 1 ? asked she, rising; was it not Albert's roice that spoke thus ? — He took her Hand. She missed Agnes, then held her Hand before her Eyes, and again leaning back, said for the second time with a low voice: Poor Soul! And yet this also is a holy Evening, for here is an Angel ! thought he, looking up thankfully towards Heaven. Albert's House was closed. They now went silently wandering side by side towards the City. Clara did not raise her Eyes. He accompanied her home to Pirkheimer's House; the door was opened, and she entered in silence. For the poor Soul could not say Good-night to him now; the words died upon her lips. But the old sad Smile was again seen upon his Countenance.

“He then returned to his own House, and looked for a time at some Children, who were catching Glow-worms. The door then opened. Susanna, who did not observe him sitting on the seat, went past to draw water. He then stole away to his own room, and went quietly to bed with an Evening Hymn on his lips.

" Art thou still asleep? said Agnes to him in the Morning on entering. She sat down aear him on the bed, and held his hand, Indifference in her Features, but he felt that in reality her agitation was extreme. Breakfast is ready, she then said to him, with a faint smile. She contemplated her pale, emaciated Husband — then was heard the sound of the Death-worm picking in the wood of the bed ; she became deadly pale, put her hand on her Heart, and scarcely breathed – the Worm went on picking: She then gravely arose, and went from him with an averted Countenance."

But the end of sufferings and expectations drew on. Albert waned slowly away, and the poor Nun of Santa Clara, who had been the one star of his life though, alas, such a lone and distant star, grew pale from sympathy, and went down to her home. Albert lay on his death-bed.

"Agnes scarcely ventured to approach him: she shewed as much forbearance as to allow him to die in Peace, instead of grieving him once more by the

remembrance of all his Sufferings, which the sight of her would have called forth. She knelt at his Bed, concealing her Head. He however, lifted his Hand, laid it on her Head, and said with a faltering Voice: Follow thou me! thou wert good - I have entertained an Angel.

“No! I have! sobbed Agnes, and I knew it not, I believed it not!

“ There thou wilt see into my Heart! said he; how I always told thee; I was not gentle, not good enough - for I suffered, for I was full of Love.

“ He expired with the word "Love'upon his Lips. The Flutes sounded on, and it seemed as if their Tones accompanied his Soul to Heaven. In the Churchyard of St. John rests all that was mortal of him.

“Strew Flowers over him, oh Wanderer !"


Dr. John Carlyle is publishing, in London and in New York, a translation of Dante's Inferno into English prose. Dr. Carlyle brings rare qualifications to the task, and having, in a residence of six or seven years in Italy, devoted himself to the study of Dante, is probably better acquainted with the Divine Comedy than any man living. He has collated with great care his text from all the best editions. The Italian text stands above, the version below, with a few indispensable notes at the bottom of the page. We are not ungrateful to Cary, who has been our English helper so long, and whom we esteem for spirit, conciseness, and accuracy, the best of metrical translators ; but it is very certain that all the tribe of English metrical versions of the great poets, the miserable Potters and Franklins and Wests, who bave lulled their dulness by the august names of Æschylus, and Sophocles, and Pindar, must give place to exact versions word for word, without rhyme or metre. So only can the real curiosity of the student be satisfied. Dr. Carlyle is no careless workman, but has executed his task with a biblical fidelity, selecting his phrase with scrupulous judgment, and italicizing every word added in English to complete the abstemious sentence of the author.

We assure the book a warm welcome in this country, where we have long observed, as a good sign of the times, the increasing study of Dante.


In completing our first volume we wish to say to the Public at large and our Readers in special, that our work has found more readers and more favor than we anticipated; but, at the same time, we confess that we have labored under some difficulties not likely to continue, or even recur. Only a small number of persons were certainly pledged to contribute to the journal, — and some of them failed us, - for we trusted that readable and noteworthy matter would flow in to us in sufficient quantity. In this case we have been a little disappointed, and so the labor of writing has fallen upon few hands, and accordingly our pages have presented less variety than we wished, and even promised. Besides this, which is the fortune of most journals at their commencement, the Senior Editor has been absent from America ever since the work began. He has now returned, and will of course contribute to its col. umns. Other and competent persons have also promised us their aid. We think that we have seen our worst times, and shall commence the new volume with better hopes, and, we trust, with more strength.

pp. 168.

LIST OF NEW PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED. Lectures on Shakespeare. By H. N. Hudson. In two volumes. New York: 1848. 12mo.

On the Philosophical Tendencies of the Age; being four Lectures delivered at Edinburgh and Glasgow in January, 1848. By J. D. Morell, A. M. 1 vol. 8vo. London: 1848. pp. vin and 193.

Modern French Literature, by L. Raymond de Vericour, &c, &c. Revised, with notes. By William Staughton Chase, A. M. Boston: 1848. 12mo. PP. XVI and 418.

Proceedings of the Anti-Sabbath Convention held in the Melodeon, March 23rd and 24th. [Reported by Henry M. Parkhurst.] Boston : 1848.'12mo.

Guide through Mount Auburn. Second Edition, enlarged and improved for the benefit of strangers desirous of seeing the clusters of monuments with the least trouble. With an engraved plan of the cemetery. By Nathaniel Dearborn. Boston: 1848. 12mo. pp. 28.

The Ministerial Office, its Permanency and Ends: a Sermon preached at the Installation of Rev. George E. Day as Pastor of the Edwards Church in Northampton, Jan. 12, 1848. By Theodore D. Wooley, President of Yale College. Northampton : 1848.

A Discourse delivered in the First Congregational Church in Harvard, Worcester Co., Mass., by Henry B. Pearson, on the day of the Annual Fast, April 6, 1848. Boston : 1848.

'Thoughts on some important Points relating to the System of the World. By J. P. Nichol, LL. D., &c. First American Edition, revised and enlarged. Boston and Cambridge. 1848. 1 vol. 12mo. pp. xviii and 261.

The Writings of Cassius Marcellus Clay, including Specches and Addresses. Edited, with a Preface and Memoir, by Horace Greeley. New York: 1848. I vol. 8vo. pp. xvi and 536.

Christian Songs. By the Rev. James Gisborne Lyons, LL. D. “The Service of Song." Third edition with additions. Philadelphia : 1848. 8vo.

The Principles of the Chrono-thermal System of Medicine, with the Fallacies of the Faculty, &c. By Samuel Dickinson, M. D., &c., &c. Containing also an Introduction and Notes by William Turner, M. D., &c., &c. London. Pp. XV and 194.

Triumph of “Young Physic," or Chronothermal Facts. By William Tarner, M. D)., &c., &c. New York. 8vo. pp. 29.

Endymion. A Tale of Greece. By Henry B. Hirst, &c. Boston. 12mo. 1848.

A Book of Hymns for public and private devotion. 3d edition. Boston. 1848. 12mo.

An Abridgment of the Law of Nisi Prius, in two volumes, by Wm. Sel. wyn, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. With notes and references to the decisions of the courts of this country, by Henry Wheaton, Thomas I. Wharton, and Ed. ward E. Law. Sixth American Edition, with a supplement containing notes of recent English and American authorities. By T. G. Marvin. 2 vols. pp. 775, 902. Philadelphia. 1848.

[ocr errors]

pp. 72.

[ocr errors]
« AnkstesnisTęsti »