We feathers and fashion! Of course there was an absence of that style and bearing to which I of late had become accustomed, and which had insensibly begun to direct my taste and bias my judgment; and yet she had traits of character which, I was sure, could make me happy. had the same treasured memories of the past; we knew and could trust each other. But Hope in the city without accomplishments and finish! Alas! the worldliness of the world had robbed me of my independence; the genuine and spontaneous within me was fast receding before the artificial and extrinsic. The spiritual meaning of Christianity might have helped to clear my vision, and set things in their true value; but this I had not then attained, while worldly views, maxims, and principles, were making a clean sweep over my affections, rolling their sediment into every inlet of my soul. I stayed at Maysville three days;-three happy, tranquil days. On the third day I could not sell the homestead; oh, no! I could not for ever part with the only spot where the ark of my affections ever rested. I only gave Hope's uncle a lease of it for a term of years. Besides, I meant to come every year after this. "Do!" "do!" they all urged heartily. "Do!" said Hope's eyes. As we all, stood in the little front yard, she gathered a bunch of violets, and, tying them with a blade of grass, placed them in my hand. It was a great thing for Hope to do, she was so modest. "Dear Hope!" I said, inly; and then, aloud, "Next summer I shall be back." "Next summer!" they all repeated; ber, next summer!" 66 remem Next summer! how many hopes are garnered up for "next summer!" What of my next summer? It found me in foreign lands;-and the next summer, and the next. Where then? Time went on, fast and still faster. Years rolled away, and it was all business, business, business, stocks, bonds, and notes,-notes, stocks, and bonds. In spite of depressions, panics, and crises, our firm went on, prospering and to prosper. Everything turned to our advantage. True, it was a life-work with us. For months and years I stood within the stern, hard, cold walls of commerce, threading its slippery paths, and diving into its sunless hollows. I walked in the crowded streets, with the jostling, elbowing, anxious, restless multitude, and went to my lonely room to sleep under the risks of to-day, to wake upon the successes of to-morrow. We beheld the returning values of every fresh investment; and when my uncle died I was his heir. The "money power" was now in my hands, and I was accounted a rich man, even among merchant princes. Now I was flattered and fawned upon; my society was sought and courted; many an elegant drawing-room was thrown open to me. "Me or my money?" I sometimes asked myself; for I had not now the frank and unsuspicious spirit of earlier time. ject which I never indeed wholly overlooked or forgot, but which, the older I grew, looked more formidable and far off. Marry! Indeed you must, and, believe me. soon or never," she said, one night. "You are not yet quite confirmed,-not a sworn Benedict: -soon or never!" A pleased yet disbelieving "Ay! ay!" was my reply, and she took it affirmatively or negatively, as the mood was. "Sick at a boarding-house!-dying at a hotel! solitary, unloved, uncared for, forgotten, unlamented!-think of it!" she urged, in graver tone. It was certainly horrible to think of. "But where shall I get a wife?" The A—'s. B-'s, C-'s, passed muster before me. I bai no heart for them, and, I dare say, they had none for me; for, with some lingerings of the old romance, I fancied there must be some heartwork to oil and sweeten the matrimonial tie. "Suppose I go into the country and make a search," I once said, with a secret leaning towards other days. “Oh, you must marry according to your standing-your wife must be accomplished, equal to the sphere in which you can place her." Mrs. Sands, I suspected, was fishing for a cousin, as she went on expatiating upon the "must haves" of my future establishment; in which, of course, my wife was the most elegant article of furniture, and only an article of furniture. "Sarah Sands does not care a fig for me," I For you?" For my money." "You are getting romantic," cried my companion; "of course no wise woman would be so imprudent as to marry without a maintenance." "But would she help me to get one?" "How absurd! such tests are gone by with a past generation; no sensible man would now think of applying them. Even were the thing possible, a person should run no risks, when great issues are at stake." amused me, her notions never met my case. I Talk as she might, and her sprightly tones certainly did not mean to live and die a bachelor. I did not mean to end my days an unloved, uncared for, solitary old man. But I had never yet found the time to stop and consider, and make up my mind, who and when to marry. Agreeable and lovely women I had often met. effaced by some new scheme of the head. What but the impression they made was the next day time had I to think about the heart? Thus it went on. One day, it was December, I sat gloomily at my desk. The book-keeper came in and handed me a paper: "For your subscription, sir-Howard Society-your name." "Subscription! subscription! and nothing else! Howard! better Humbug-take it! I've nothing to give!" I cried savagely. "Take it, and say 'no-one must learn to say no in these days." Mr. Swaim took it hesitatingly from my hand. "Take it, and say no!" I reiterated sternly. He hastily disappeared. I could number but one intimate female friend, -Mrs. Sands, the wife of one of the firm,-into whose house I occasionally dropped for an evening chat. I liked her; not that she was one of I felt cross; my head ached. All the societies my model women;--her notions were too worldly in Christendom seemed preying on my vitals. for that; but she was an agreeable talker, and "Don't let me see a subscription list for the next especially did she keep alive in my mind a sub-six months," I said aloud, “I won't have one here; and societies, for that day, were the scape-goat of my spleen. Between three and four, I left the office; the early darkness of a December day had already crept over the city; a cold sleet was driving from the northeast; buttoning up my warm overcoat, and drawing on my fur gloves, I issued into the street. Something left undone by Mr. Swaim, led me out of the principal thoroughfares, through some narrow lanes, where I had seldom been. Turning a corner, a wail met my ear, and a sight of woe burst upon my eye-such sights and sounds as I never met before;-a stricken mother and her little ones, cast by a remorseless landlord into the street, and on such a night as that! "Where are the city authorities? the poor laws? the police!" I cried; " where are the proper officers to look into a case like this?" as the eldest girl cast an imploring look into my face. something to live for-when I was good and glad, and happy and loved." Alas, that could never be, and I almost wished I had been early laid by my mother's side. Among my fellows, I was accounted rich and strong, and proud and wise; I could do as I pleased, go where I pleased, with no encumbrances to saddle my wishes or burden my thoughts. In my room, I was a fitful, impatient, desolate old bachelor; large as was my capital in stocks and notes, I had not even a single share in home affections, the only earthly capital which will yield sufficient income to make the heart happy, and support it through the waste and worldliness of a business life. Here I was a bankrupt. I thought of Hope. I hunted up a little desk, which had long been set aside, and began to rummage over old papers. Something dropped from a torn bill. I looked down at my feet, and Enough of just such sort of work," said a beheld a bunch of withered violets. Were my bystander. I flung a pocket full of change at the affections, like these, quite dried up? I unfolded group, and passed by on the other side. My head the paper, and read a date in pencilled characaching and my teeth chattering, I reached the ters. "Twelve years!" I ejaculated. "Twelve hotel. A fire had just been made in my room; years! I am growing old-I am old-youth gone ordering a cup of strong tea, I was glad to escape-life wasting." Death and the scythe seemed dinner, human voices, and subscription lists. already knocking at the door. I took up the Hauling off my boots, I threw myself into a rock-withered violets and replaced them on the paper; ing chair, the only luxury which I allowed myHope! dear Hope-" self; I was alone with my ill-humour, my headache, and my conscience, for my heart, to all intents and purposes, had long been a nullity. The mood now upon me, had lately grown frequent; life, at times, wore a vinegar aspect; II hated nearly all the world, especially its want and beggary, as it well might have hated me for all the good I had ever done it; yet the world had used me well; it had given me all I asked. How was it? With my feet on the fender, and my head thrown back, I closed my eyes and thought. The world was shut out, and I had time to think. Ah, how many, who elsewhere had envied me, had they now seen me, would have exchanged places? I was sick. I did not go out for ten days or so. With the exception of a few business calls, I was alone. The gong regularly sounded, steps passed to and fro my door, waiters obeyed my call, the distant hum of the busy streets came upon my ear; while I-I sat alone, dreary, none caring for me, I caring for nobody. For what purpose was I living? For whose sake was I toiling? What good had I ever done? Who had been made better or happier because of me? What account could I render of my stewardship? Then the stricken mother and the subscription list, which I well knew were for such as her, began to upbraid me. I thought of my mother, and with what delight I used to be the almoner of her widow's mite. With thousands at my disposal, had I now no heart for the wants and woes of my fellows? I was startled, nay, I was frightened at my own hardness? Had selfishness quite eaten me up? Had I sold my Christian manhood to the god of this world? I could neither sleep nor rest until Swaim came in, and a check of fifty dollars was sent to the Howard Society; it was small relief, for it was wrung from me by the lashings of an accusing conscience; it was not the heart service which fertilizes and enriches the soul. Then I began to yearn for the days of my childhood. "Oh, give me back my early days!" I cried aloud; "give back the time when there was 15 VOL. X. 66 Now or never!" I cried, rising up and pacing never; now, while the warm tides of memory are to and fro my narrow precincts; "yes, now or shall fall back on old habits-now! once in flowing in upon the soul-now-next week, and Wall Street, and I am doomed for life;" and with desperate haste, I determined to take the flood Maysville. The next morning, and I was gone! tide of my reawakened sensibilities, and start for To all persons similarly situated, I would say, "Act !" You know there is a tide in the affections, as well as in the affairs of men, which, if taken at the flood, leads on,-if not to fame and fortune, to what is far better,-to domestic happiness and human sympathies. Do not allow old habits, selfish and worldly influences, to regain their power, until the favourable hour is lost, perhaps irrevocably, but act before the social and moral necessities of your nature are quite crushed, while their pleading is yet heard above the din and selfishness of life. Maysville, like myself, was changed: on me, the gray hairs were beginning to come; there many a gray head had gone. I was not recognised at the village tavern. New faces were at the door. On my way to the old spot, I stopped many times to look around; things looked familiar and yet strange. I wanted to go forward, and yet dreaded to find still greater changes. Hope-where was she? How would she look? I, at last, stepped aside from the main road, and went towards the churchyard. It was good to stand again by my mother's grave; dead grass was all around, except where patches of snow hid in the hollows, and a chilly wind swept through the neighbouring pines, making a mournful music, which was in harmony with my mood. Passers-by on the high-road stared at me. I felt formal and strange. I tried to realize the joyful bounding of the boy, when I used to visit Maysville, but without success. I wished I could see Hope unobserved. I wished I could meet her here in the churchyard-or alone-by our selves. Such things happen in romance, but I had to take life as it was,-go out and meet events; events would not come to me. At last I set my face in the direction of the dear old place. No one was in sight. The dogs did not know me. I opened the gate, went up the little walk, and knocked at the door. Who would answer to the call? Old Phœbe had long since gone, and Hope-she might be far hence. The heart of a stranger was within me. I drew the fur collar around my face, as steps bounded into the entry A little child peeped forth: with a blushing and frightened face, she shrunk back and ran away. The door again opened, and—it was Hope who stood before me. The same sweet and retiring expression, as she bade me enter, "it is so very bleak," she said. "Hope!" I exclaimed, casting back my fur, "Hope, you do not know me." "Robert!" and the warm glow spake eloquently in every feature. A few evenings after, as we sat together by ourselves, I drew forth the bunch of withered violets. "Then you promised to come back next summer," she said. "Shall it be next summer now, Hope-our summer-time?" Spring voices were already murmuring in my heart-icy fetters were breaking-there was a bright light shining on the frost-work of The United States Bank sunk thousands for me, so that my property is much less than formerly. I am not now regarded a rich man by the world. Ah, it does not know all my income. I have other and better investments than bankstocks and state-securities; moreover, I have enough and to spare, and once it was not so. The two boys have gone with their mother, while our latest-born, our youngest, Hope, is playing beside me as I write. But Hope, my eldest Hope, has come back; she sits beside me, and repeats a tale of woe; the boys listen and are sad. A poor mother is dying in our neighbourhood, and two hungry little ones are homeless and in want of all things. I do not now ask as once, "Where are the city authorities, the poor laws, the police?" then turn away on the other side. We all say, here is something for us to do. Efficient as the "proper officers" may be, there is still much, oh, how much of want and wretchedness! to be relieved by the kind charities of private individuals. I look at mine, and think of them destitute, friendless, homeless; and shall I not do unto others as I would that others should do unto me and mine? The law of human brotherhood has a new and deeper significance. Let me share my comforts with the comforters, and sympathize with the bruised and sorrowing. The boys ask: "How shall I help, father?" Robert empties his pockets;-only two filberts: they will do little. Their dear mother is hastening to prepare something for the sick one; meanwhile we, the boys and I, will devise plans for more permanent relief. I am so happy to do this, it in all the success, flattery, fashion, or travelling so grateful in doing it! There was nothing like before I was married. And now I will close this brief reminiscence by a remark of Dr. Arnold, which sums up the whole matter a great deal better than I can. "A man's life in London (or New York) while he is single, may be very stirring, and very intellectual, but I imagine it must have a hardening effect, and that this effect will be more felt every year, as the counter tendencies of youth become less powerful. The most cer tain softeners of a man's moral skin, and sweeteners of his blood, are, I am sure, domestic intercourse in a happy marriage, and intercourse with the poor. It is very hard, I imagine, in our present state of society, to keep up intercourse with God, without both or one of these aids to foster it." To my bachelor friends, then, I would say, marry; you need home affections to make you truer patriots, more useful citizens, and better, as well as happier men. SONNETS. BY PARK BENJAMIN. TWILIGHT. Now, like a pensive Nun, with hood o'erdrawn As solemn shadows lengthen o'er the lawn, There lie strange beauties, eyes of starry light, Which, though thus hidden deep, are not less bright. Soon will the radiance of their orbs be seen; Soon from that form, that face divinely fair, Will the dark cowl be cast, and, like a queen, Covered with jewels, rich beyond compare, She'll walk superbly on the heavenly scene. But then no longer Twilight, she must claim, Like a sweet bride, the Night's sublimer name. NIGHT. How like a Sultan of the gorgeous East, Comes in the Night, with perfect splendoar clad; Full dark and swarthy is his brow, but glad As a young bridegroom's at his marriage feast. High shines his crescent, shedding silver rays, Golden and beautiful the countless gems That glitter purely in his diadems, Which rise successive, blaze surmounting blaze, Till the vast canopy above his throne, Reaching to Heaven, is all one flood of light! Mute, with hushed awe, I stand and look alore On the excessive glory of the Night, Which more majestic to my vision seems Than thou, fair Day, with all thy wealth of beams. HYPOCHONDRIA. BY CHAMPION BISSELL. Or all unfortunate beings, no one appears to me so truly pitiable as an imagined dyspeptic. Most forms of hypochondria, originating from untamed fancies or violent inclinations, if not easily cured are at least open to attack, and often predisposed to reformation; but it is vain to reason with the man who is an hypochondriac, on the subject of his stomach, or to endeavour to persuade him contrary to his imaginary and self-imposed sufferings, that he is really well. His faith in his disease, and his inability to recover, is of that kind which we are told can remove mountains. His arguments, if not convincing to others, have at all times the merit of being satisfying to himself. And the pleasure he feels in securing himself behind his morbid fancies, is a complete as any enjoyment can be, which springs from a conviction of exclusive misery, and looks forward only to a condition of egotistical despair. When by some strange freak of the divinity who presides over our actions, one man imagines himself a tea-kettle or a pump, and in either case complains of the shortness of the spout, the dislocated state of the handle, and the scarcity of water within; or another takes upon himself to personate a rabid dog or infuriated bull, and snaps or butts at those who may happen to be near him; or a third conceives himself dead, and while gravely pretending to realize the enjoyments of spirits, complains bitterly of hunger and thirst, although inflexibly refusing to touch food or drink;-in the case of each of these we are sure that common sense will soon return, even if it is to be again beclouded by more murky absurdities. The animated pump soon wearies of standing upright and swinging his arm; the rabid dog grows tired of snapping, and finds it difficult to keep up a supply of foam at the mouth; and the disembodied spirit ere long returns to beefsteak and bread-and-butter. But the dyspeptic hypochondriac, as he never wanders so directly or so far from the portals of reason as the perpetrators of these follies, so he neither returns so easily nor so quickly. He lives, sleeps, eats, walks, very much like ordinary men, and hugs the gloom which his diseased fancies have hung over him. His belief in the reality and incurableness of his own wretchedness, seems to grow stronger and stronger by daily exercise, and to be more and more overgrown by unanswerable arguments. And unless a lucky turn be given to his distemper, unless some unexpected and unguarded-against ray of light break in upon him, the chances are ten to one that he will continue to cherish his supposed misfortune, and enjoy the doubtful luxury of his woe, till death releases him from his own morbid fancies and the importunity of his friends, or some real affliction set in, and by its unmistakable visitation, drive out the offspring of his evil genius. or dyspepsia books, is of no consequence just now, since the dyspeptic hypochondriac is a direct result of both. For now that the stomach has its own share of literature, and there are few of us that are not wise touching the gastric juice, and the comparative solvency of table edibles, it is not unfair to argue that, as readers of medical books are apt to imagine themselves dropsical or consumptive, according as they are pausing over the dropsy or pathology of the lungs, so the students of popular digestive classics are in danger of fancying themselves in a greater or less degree victims of the most talked-about complaint of the day. The most healthy of men are said to be those who know nothing about their own internal economy; and although it would hardly be good logic to assert the vice versû of this proposition, since physicians are not distinguished for liability to disease, it is yet evidently true, that people who watch, and read about their stomachs, are apt to have hard work with their dinners. Probably there are few readers who do not know among their acquaintance examples of dyspeptic hypochondria, and who are not able to recall to themselves, as they glance at this article, the many instances of distempered fancy over which they have alternately laughed and grieved. And I do not doubt that many cases which the reader can instance, are as aggravated as that of one of my friends, whom for the present I shall call Rogers. College nearly at Rogers graduated from the same time with myself, and was known as a most excellent scholar. Indeed, his close at tention to his studies was one of the leading causes of his hypochondriacism. His health had really begun to feel the effects of confinement; but a six weeks' vacation would have entirely recruited it. But, casting about him for medical advice in the shape of books, as is usual with those who have, or fancy they have, anything the matter with them, he lit upon some half a dozen treatises upon the stomach, whose contents, to use a phrase a little the worse for wear, he soon "thoroughly mastered." The consequence was that he immediately set up for a confirmed and incurable dyspeptic. Thereafter, his conduct was infinitely amusing. Upon his diet, which he all at once resolved should be as rigid as an ascetic's, he was in the habit of pondering with the most attentive care. Having found Dr. Beaumont's table of experiments upon the comparative digestibility of common articles of food, he made it his constant vade mecum. "See here," he would exclaim, after dinner (and, by the way, no dinner of ours at - would have distressed the most Socratic of eaters), "see here;-I am afraid I have again transgressed the bounds of prudence. Beside a slice of roast beef, which requires three hours and thirty minutes for digestion, and of which The hypochondria of the stomach is without six ounces is enough for the daily support of a doubt of very recent origin. When there were sedentary man, I partook of two potatoes, a no books about dyspepsia, there were no dys- quantity of bread, and the additional enormity of peptics; and whether books produced dyspepsia, | a piece of pie. I feel that I shall suffer severely for this indiscretion. Pie-crust, as stated by an | eminent author, often remains in the stomach many hours without undergoing a change, and in this state gives rise to many forms of disease. And of potatoes it is said, by another celebrated writer, that they are essentially indigestible, and unnatural as an article of food." "It's my opinion, Rogers," said my chum,—a fellow of about twelve stone, and a good liver,"that your eminent authors are eminent humbugs, and the sooner you drop thinking about your insides, the better." "Oh," answered Rogers, with an air of melancholy satisfaction most ludicrous to behold, "you don't know what it is to be a dyspeptic;-to have one source of rational enjoyment completely and perhaps for ever closed;-to feel your greatest blessings transformed to a curse, and to see nine-tenths of your fellow-men bringing the same misfortunes on themselves by their own imprudence." So completely was my friend persuaded of the incompetency of his stomach, although, in reality, he was better off in the matter of good digestion than most men, that he gave up all ideas of professional life, and entered into mercantile pursuits, for which by nature and habit he was but indifferently fitted. But, as he has a handsome property, this makes but little difference. In fact, I believe he cares for scarcely anything else than to cultivate his darling dyspepsia. In the course of a hunting expedition which I made with Rogers and a few others of like age a summer ago, I had abundant opportunity to witness the strong influence of his hypochondriacism. All the attractions of forest and mountain scenery, field sport and hunter's fare, had not power to draw him away from his favourite subject of contemplation. If a day's journey was severe, he trembled for the effect of fatigue upon his stomach. If a meal was delayed, or a fast unavoidably forced upon us, his agitation touch "Killing themselves with roast beef and pota- ing his internal hygiene became ludicrously intoes," I interrupted. "Turning the blessings of good apple-pie into the curse of full cheeks and a healthy colour," chimed in my chum. "Well, you will find what I say true some day," answered Rogers, "and will lose all the comforts of existence as I have. And my dinner will not be digested before half past five, if at all," he burst out, most lugubriously, hardly conscious of our presence; “and then supper at six, to task my already weakened organs! I wish it was not considered unsafe to fast, for in that case I might relieve my stomach of one-third of its troubles." But Rogers really liked his suppers, and wouldn't have dispensed with them on any account. tense. Having no test of the digestibility of venison-steak or fried trout, his fear of them was so great as to cause him to practise the most unheard-of experiments on himself in connexion with these innocent luxuries. At one encampment, where we remained nearly a week, he commenced putting up apparatus to distil his drinking-water, having used no other kind at home since his discovery of the manifold poisons existing in the accustomed forms of our ordinary beverage. But this innovation upon the rights of Hamilton County water we did not allow him to carry out. And since then I have begun to despair of his recovery; for if a hunting excursion cannot cure one of dyspepsia, real or fancied, nothing can. |