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equally disposed, with his warmest friends, to extol Mr. Dawes' poetry, (and that we are, he has but to know us to feel assured,) we could not, if we simply regarded the author and not the public, avoid an ex. emplary, though brief, exposure of the gross demerits of the production which gives a name to this volume, and which is made first and most distinctly to demand the reader's attention. To do this in as few words as possible, and with the fewest possible citations, shall be our earnest endeavor. The choice of metre was the author's first misfortune. It is both feeble and common, and should have been rejected on both accounts. Yet, in the opening stanzas, the author puts it to its very best use, giving it all the tone and swell of which it is susceptible. The strain first assumes tenderness, in description, and then draws near to sublimity, in invocation. Afterwards it glides off into a metaphysical flourish, at the beginning and end of which a father and daughter are introduced-the first being surnamed 'Wilton,' and the latter christened 'Geraldine.'

"Throw off your modesty, and damn your eyes."
"Suppose you have some half a dozen daughters,
From four feet high to five, with some odd inches,
But cast your bread, you know, upon the waters,
And save the shoe from telling where it pinches.
And never more despair of Bell or Betty."
Throw open wide your doors-burn spermaceti,
"And so the city Fair of matrimony

'What's offered, ladies, for this matter o' money?—
Blazes for ever, and the bids run high.
A hundred thousand in the stocks! who'll buy?---
Going!-who bids?-going!-he's good as Rothschild-
Gone!-and Miss Wilhelmina rocks the Goth's child.'"
"Poor devil that was married for his Bentons,
And having lost them, shares his rib's repentance."
"But now-a-days instead of wasting pearls,
They have a way of melting down the girls."
«Pope Alexander always had his followers,
As Alexander Pope has had his swallowers."
May rob the very altar of a horn,
'Sprinkling with rosy light the dewy lawn.'"
"Now there are many different kinds of lions,
As there are wares, from porcelain to 'Brummagen ;'
Some manufactured by the curling-irons,
And others, the museums, should you rummage 'em.'
«While o'er the blue, MacAdamised rotundo,
Flectit equos, curruque volans, dat lora secundo."
And Wilton saw at once the frightful cause."
"At length they heard the dipping of the oars,

Now the story runs that this young lady, as heroines always do in poems, falls in love with a good-for-nothing, 'ne'er-do-weel' sort of a scape-grace. His name is Waldron, and he loves Geraldine to distraction, as he takes pains to evince by killing a rival, and running away with an improper female, who is called Alice Acus, so as to rhyme with 'make us.' Previous to this delicate piece of attention on his part, he turns pirate-a regular out-and-out Corsair, and rushes, in the maddest spirit of desperation, to sea, in a 'long, low, These four last are the most shocking violations black-looking schooner.' Geraldine, as is becoming of Nick Bottom's rule we ever heard of; though the under the circumstances, goes into a galloping consumpsense can hardly be said to be sacrificed to sound. tion, looks pale and hectic, and cries pretty much all They are infinitely worse than the Yankee distitch-the time, because the cruel fates have separated her There goes our old mill down the water, from her amiable admirer. Old Wilton, her papa, juA darn sight faster than it ought to.' diciously determines to carry his sick daughter to a We shall cheerfully bid adieu to this ridiculous perwarmer climate. They depart in a ship, which is of formance with the quoting of certain passages which course attacked by the pirate Waldron; and the up-read, not as if they were imitations, but as if they shot of the whole matter is the indiscriminate demise, were 'scissorized' out of the whole cloth of Don Juan: in the most horrible way, of the entire party. This rigmarole is more ridiculous in the author's verse than in our prose; it occupies, however, but a small portion of the poem, the chief part being the most irrelevant digression. Herein it resembles Don Juan most manifestly. There is a light mingling of coarse humor and affected pathos, a similar use of slang terms and vulgar expressions, the same striving after oddity of "Not that there's any pleasure in the danger, rhyme, with equally shocking success. There are, moreover, repeated attempts at the tender, the devo-'T is sweet to seem to be to fear a stranger, tional, and the sublime, which, unlike those of Don Juan, are bombastic failures.

If the following commissions are not enough to send to the tomb of the Capulets any poem by any poet, then are slang, silliness, and smut, 'tolerable, and to be endured.'

"The goose that has the largest share of stuffing."
"And very often went to bed a beast."
"And many, who to ruin are turned over,
But 'go to grass,' to roll themselves 'in clover.'"
"Who awes the great menagerie of fops,
In admiration at his whisker crops."
“Alphesibous might renounce his jumps,
To see saltantes satyros in pumps."

"gently raised
Her dimpling hand of snow, where one warm kiss
Thrilled to her heart with love's delicious bliss."
"The morn is up again-the dewy morn!

Fresh from the bed of night, in matron bloom,
Weeping to see so many take a 'horn'
And walk out rosy from the soda-room."

More than being shot at with ounce bullets.

The while we wish that we were feeding pullets.
Most men can fight a duel to the letter;
Yet when a man survives, he feels the better."

"Long did the combat last, till only five

Were left within the Vulture. They at length
Were overpowered by numbers yet alive-
Faint with the loss of blood, and without strength.
But while the pirate was of plunder thinking,
He found both vessels filling and fast sinking."

"The hot sun blazed upon their naked heads,

And boiled the blood within them-till some grew
Mad, and blasphemed and tore their flesh in shreds,
While others, starving, helped the deed to do-
Then, weeping in wild mirth, drank the dark gore,
And cried aloud to God, and shrieked for more."
"Arm locked in arm, they turned them from the crowd,
And gazed upon each other"-

Like the Irishman's portrait, each one of the prece- | CAL.-Let not such thoughts plant lilies on thy cheek, ding may be said to be more like than the original.

Turn we now, with a feeling as grateful as 'the cool plashing of a plangent wave' to one who is travel-sore, and nearly stifled with the dust of the desert, unto 'Athenia of Damascus.' Here is a delightful dramatic poem, the flow of whose lines, like that of a palmshaded rivulet, is pure, limpid, and sparkling.

The subject is too lofty for the modern stage, although with judicious curtailment, it can doubtless be represented with effect. The beautiful thoughts and language, with which it is rife, would be lost in recitation; yet it has a sufficiency of incident to keep alive a pleasant interest.

It is deep tragedy. We are trespassing beyond our limits, and can gratify our reader with but one charming extract.

ACT II.-SCENE I. A pleasure ground in Damascus.
(ATHENIA alone.)

ATH.-I will not pluck thee from thy parent tree,
Sweet rose of beauty! while the rain-drops hang
O'er thy clear blush their modest ornaments-
Another hour shall glory in thy smile,

And when the day light dies, the queen of heaven
Shall fold thee in a silver veil of love,
Forgetting her Endymion. Foolish heart!
As if I loved!-Yet truly, as I live,

I fear I love the very thought of love!

Oh, childlish joy-indefinite delight!—

That I should dream so sweetly-and at morn
Find my eyes wet with tears!-

Enter CALOUS.

CAL. [Embracing her.]
ATH.-Thank thee, Heaven!

CAL.

Athenia!

What kind indulgent power

Has smiled on Calous, that so much bliss
At once should dissipate his darkest gloom,
And make a noon of midnight!

ATH.-
Thank thee, Heaven!
CAL.-Say, then, thou lovest me still, Athenia?
ATH.-Love thee! Indeed I know not if I love.
When thou art nigh, I fain would be alone-
And when away, I'm sad and desolate :
Beshrew this maiden fickleness of thought!
I would not give the treasure of my love
For all the wealth that earth or ocean covers:
And thou wilt save our altars, Calous!
The holy cross, and every dear remain
Of sainted martyr, still inviolate!

So shall we wander in our hours of joy,
On the green margin of life's sunny stream,
With more delight than ever-shall we not?
CAL.-What grief can throw a shadow o'er our way,
When love is cloudless ?-let thy heart be still,
Young Halcyon, on its marble resting place!
There is no fear, Athenia, that the foe

Can harm Damascus: though his arm is strong,
The arm above is stronger. Even now
The victory is ours.

Alas, Damascus !

ATH.--
CAL.-Chase these vain fears!-and dost thou, maiden,
think

The soil where Adam trod in majesty-
The land Jehovah guarded, when the fiend
Drove Saul to persecute--and where the light
And breath of God softened his heart of steel,
Turning his thoughts to pity and to love;
Think'st thou this consecrated place can yield
While He is with us, as He e'er has been?
ATH.-His ways are dark and deeply intricate:
When Heaven was kindest, innocence was lost,
And Paradise gave birth to misery.

My own Athenia! All will yet be well.
Come, let me bind a chaplet of fresh flowers
To deck thy temples: I will steal an hour
From anxious care, and sacrifice to love
The hopes and wishes I have nursed for thee.
Not always thus shall be our wayward lot,
To wander here and steal from love's rich store
These precious moments of sweet ecstasy!
Not always thus, my girl! When dove-eyed peace
Spreads her white wings again, the sacred tie
Shall bind our wedded hearts: till then, my love,
Thy smile shall cheer me on in peril's hour,
With its dear influence !

After 'Athenia' comes 'Lancaster,' a poem that has many excellences, and is worthy of the genius of the writer. It is, however, upon his miscellaneous pieces that Mr. Dawes' reputation as a poet mainly depends. The melody of their versification is truly enchanting. The ideas, too, are worthy of such exquisite expression. The public are aware of the beauties of all these productions, for none have been more liberally transferred to our literary journals. We have space for the shortest only:

ART THOU HAPPY, LOVELY LADY?

Art thou happy, lovely lady,

In the splendor round thee thrown?

Can the jewels that array thee

Bring the peace which must have flown?

By the vows which thou hast spoken,

By the faith which thou hast broken,
I ask of thee no token

That my heart is sad and lone.

There was one that loved thee, Mary!
There was one that fondly kept
A hope which could not vary,

Till in agony it slept.

He loved thee, dearly loved thee,
And thought his passion moved thee;
But disappointment proved thee

What love has often wept.

Had Mr. Dawes been a common-place poet, or simply a new claimant for distinction, we should have been more prodigal of commendation, and more niggard of blame. Bind up this volume without 'Geraldine,' and you have an admirable collection of poetry, fit to appear worthily, if not the first, in a 'Library of American Poets.'

Some asinine individual, who must have been as partial to paradoxes as his long-eared archetype to thistles, has taken upon himself to remark, that there are few or no materials for romance in America. This critic must be nearly related to the observing person of whom Wordsworth remarks:

'A primrose by the river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.'

It would, perhaps, not be too extravagant to say that the poetical resources of our country are boundless. Nature has here granted every thing to genius which can excite, exalt, enlarge, and ennoble its powers. Nothing is narrow, nothing is confined. All is height, all is expansion. Cliffs throw aloft mighty bastions ; mountains lift impregnable parapets to the sky; rivers 'roll in majesty ;' lakes spread abroad like seas; and prairies meet the wide horizon all around with undula

tions of magnificent verdure. Here, too, are forests, | Grew pale and died,—and how the prophet's prayer in whose vast dim cloisters, the mind may feel a sense Did pluck him from the jaws of death again. of loneliness and an overwhelming awe, which no Tell too, thy little daughter, while she sits fabrics of human rearing could impart; for here, in Heedful beside thee,-how the shepherds heard ancient days, man came to build his altars and to wor The harps of angels, while they watch'd their sheep,— ship. These trees are glorious columns; these leaves And how the infant Saviour found no bed are gorgeous tracery; here is a 'majestical roof, fretted Save a straw manger 'mid the horned train,with golden fire ;' And how he rais'd the Ruler's daughter up, When on her dead brow lay the weeper's tear,— How at the tomb of Lazarus, he mourned With the sad sisters-and, when the wild sea And wilder tempest raged, stretch'd out his hand, And saved the faint disciple on the wave, Who pray'd to him.

The groves were God's first temples!'

In America, too, are diversities of climate, yielding diversified delights. Here Winter erects his palaces of glittering ice, while there Spring displays her flowery avenues and her green arcades; here Summer shows her silver fountains and her billows of golden grain, when in another region of our vast domain, Autumn pours from her exhaustless horn the copious harvest and transmutes, with a subtle alchemy, the emerald of the woods into ruby and topaz, and

'All the hues that mingle in the rainbow.'

Then, when the moisten'd eye
Reveals the softening soul, cast in thy seed-
And Heaven and holy angels water it!
So shall the spirit of the summer-storm
Gleam as a rainbow, when thy soul goes up
With its dread company of deeds and thoughts,
To bide the audit of the day of doom.

Hartford, Conn., July 24, 1839.

THE MISSIONARY;

Our history, too, is poetical. Let Time but wrap it in his mighty shadows, and what were the fables of old compared to our familiar story! How inspiring, how sublime the contemplation of those few brave hearts who, led by one greater than Leonidas, dared to cast themselves into the rocky defile of freedom, opposed advancing armies, died not, but conquered! The blood tingles and rushes through our veins as we trace these By the authoress of "The Poet," "The Poet's Destiny," &c. words. Dull, cold, critical as we are, we are almost incited to the utterance of burning thoughts. Shall there, then, be no more poets, in our 'dear, dear country? Shall there not be one great poet? That man whose eye can roam over the borders of our land, and see these things of which we have spoken, needs not the spirit of prophecy to answer, "Yes!"

THE MOTHER'S RAINY DAY.

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.
When the soft summer-shower, whose herald-drops
Stirr'd the broad vine-leaves, to an answering joy
Swells to protracted rain,-soothing the mind
With sense of leisure,-Mother, haste to call
Thy little flock around thee. Let them hail
The rainy day as one when tenderest love
Brings forth for them its richest stores of thought.
Think'st thou the needle's thrift, or housewife's lore,
Yields richer payment? Mother! thou may'st stamp
Such trace upon the waxen mind, as life,
With all its swelling floods, shall ne'er blot out.
So, take thy bright-eyed nursling on thy knee,
And tell him of the God, who rules the cloud,
And calms the tempest-and the glorious sun
Brings forth rejoicing from the rosy east,
To gild the morn.

Unlock thy treasur'd hoards
Of hallow'd lore,-how little Samuel heard
At midnight, 'neath the temple's solemn arch,
Jehovah's voice, and hasted to obey,-
How young Josiah turn'd to Israel's God
Ere yet eight summers ripened on his brow,-
And how the sick child to his father cried

"My head! my head!" then in his mother's arms

VOL. V.-74

CHAPTER I.

It was on a mild autumn afternoon that two young men sauntered leisurely through the grounds attached university.

to

"This place has changed but little since I was last here," said one of them; "and yet I look on its 'old familiar' features with feelings widely different from those they suggested two years since."

“You are changed, Eugene,” replied his companion; "the same two years which have left, as they found me, a student in those old halls, have made you a calm, thoughtful man, forgetful of the gay employments of boyish days, or remembering only to repent them."

"Nay, Charles, you are mistaken; I look on the pleasures of the past with no regret, save for their departure; and its friendships, I hope, will long cheer my lonely pilgrimage."

"Have you forgotten the one tenderer tie of that time?" asked the other with a smile; "or was that too relinquished with the all studies over which it cast a charm?"

An expression of pain crossed Eugene's brow, and he paused for a moment before he said, "I can have no love hereafter but my profession; for the one you name, it is sorrow to recall, and its hopes are gone forever!" "Forever' is a lover's word, Courtland, and means nothing as you use it. But seriously, Eugene, why do you speak so despondingly on this subject?"

"Because I have thought of it long and sadly," was the answer; and the happiness of this tie can be mine no longer. I can offer your cousin no fair prospects; for since we last met my plans are altered, and now the church must be my bride."

"But why must your engagement be dissolved ?" persisted Charles. "You are both very young; and with your eloquence in the pulpit, Eugene, you can never remain unknown and unsought."

"Going abroad as a missionary!" repeated Charles slowly, and looking with the greatest surprise on his friend; "you cannot be in earnest, Eugene !"

"I have not told you my reason; I am going abroad | sacrifice of every personal gratification, to the great end as a missionary!" for which he labored. And even this defect, though sometimes leading to unnecessary privations, was too nearly a virtue to be blamed. A strong example of this trait, was his decision to leave all the thousand blessed "Is this a theme for jesting?" answered Courtland. ties of friendship and love, for a stranger's dwelling and "You know, Charles, that I studied for the ministry an exile's lot. That this determination cost many strugagainst the wishes of my friends; I devoted myself gles, we cannot doubt―for in common with all of lofty voluntarily to my course, and would you have me fol- intellect, Eugene felt that powerful love of home, low it only when it leads through a pathway of flow-which lingers faintly round every heart, and finds an echo in every spirit. Perhaps there were moments when sadder thoughts usurped the place of hope-when he acknowledged that the trials willingly encountered, were severe indeed; but this conviction, while shadowing the present, had no effect on his purposes, and he ever turned with purified feelings, from his existing griefs, to look on that troubled hereafter which promises so much, to fulfil so little!

ers ?"

"But you carry your ideas of duty too far," replied Charles; "for though you have selected a profession which in a measure debars you from the gaieties of society, it need not deprive you of what is dearer. Why leave home, friends and kindred, to seek a foreign land, when the wide field of our own country yet offers so much to improve?"

"Here there are many engaged in the same holy work," he answered, "and my aid would avail little; but in the distant wilderness, I may kindle a light where all now is gloom, and rear an altar of faith amid the darkness of ignorance and superstition !"

CHAPTER II.

letter she was writing, to address her cousin.

"Yes, I am going," answered Gertrude quietly; and the smile she attempted to force, was lost in a tear that asked no bidding.

"Of course, Gertrude, you are going to church to"You are enthusiastic. Courtland, you forget, in day, to hear the 'farewell' of your beloved?" said Heyour ardor, the difficulties of the task. You must en-len Derwood, as she looked up with a smile from the counter dangers, sorrow, and separation from all you love, to win an uncertain end-to attain that reward which so many have toiled for in vain. You should not act rashly in an affair like this; for remember how deeply your conduct will influence the happiness of many!' "What wretched taste Mr. Courtland displays," con"I have meditated long on my resolve," replied Eu- tinued Helen. "I really once thought him a delightful gene," and I cannot change it ;-but let us leave this sub-person; and his being a minister, I could forgive—for the ject, my friend, for I would not embitter with vain regrets the few hours which yet remain for us to spend together." And in reminiscences of their college days, the friends forgot, for a time, the sad clouds which darkened the horizon of the future.

dress becomes him so well-but when he chooses to act the saint so far as to be a missionary, I positively cannot pardon him. Is it not ridiculous, Gertrude, to fancy him, with his splendid beauty, preaching to a congrega tion of savages, who may, perhaps, take his life by way of rewarding his kindness ?" And Helen threw down her pen to laugh at the picture her imagination had drawn.

"I see nothing so ludicrous in the idea," said Gertrude, with more spirit than she generally ventured to exhibit before her gay companion.

"Mr. Courtland may carry his self-devotion farther than necessity demands, but his motives at least, should shield him from ridicule !"

"Bravo, my fair cousin!" retorted Helen sarcastically. "You are really eloquent on the subject. May I be permitted to ask how long Miss Gertrude Leslie has undertaken the defence of her lover? She is truly disinterested, when this same lover has grown so indifferent to her attractions, as to leave them willingly, perhaps forever!"

Eugene Courtland was an only child, and the recent death of his widowed mother, had made him an orphan. Moving in the first circle of society, and inheriting wealth, his choice of a profession astonished, and in a degree disappointed, the friends who had marked out for him a more brilliant destiny. Rich, handsome, and talented, it was, perhaps, singular that one so young and surrounded by so many temptations, should have devoted his life to a course which must shut him out from those pleasures and excitements, that made the joys of his younger years: but Courtland's was too pure a spirit to love such pleasures long, and he turned from the emptiness of fashion, with a feeling of weariness, and sought relief in the holy studies which had made him what he was. Without any of that ambition, which even in religion finds a place, Eugene's was the eloquence of the soul; and the deep, calm voice that lent Gertrude's eyes filled with burning tears, and attemptmelody to his words, had already lured many to seeking no answer to her laughing friend, she silently quitthat Heaven where hope is lost in bliss. With his advantages and connexions, he could not be unsoughtand even at the time of my story, his name had won interest and fame. His ardent zeal and constant anticipations of success in whatever he attempted, if exerted in any other cause, might have made him a visionary; but his dreams were so firmly based, and his wishes so free from the taint of earth, that he might rather be deemed an enthusiast. Courtland's chief fault, was the extent to which he carried his ideas of duty-his entire

ted the room.

A smile of contempt, blended with triumph, curved Helen's haughty lip, and she resumed her pen to continue her letter. This, as it may serve to explain her motives, we will read as she writes:

"You cannot fancy, dear Caroline, how tired I am becoming of this stupid place! For the first two or three months of my visit, I had enough to amuse me, in laughing at my aunt's visitors and plaguing my cousin Gertrude ; but now, even these resources fail me.

One cannot laugh at the same people forever, and Gertrude is so amiable, that my teasing produces no effect more entertaining than silence, and, sometimes, tears. She is a lovely little creature, but sadly deficient in energy and spirit; any person may control her wishes in trifles, though I doubt if she would be easy to rule where her feelings were deeply interested. Just at this time too, she is wrapt in the rose-colored mantle of her first love, and, as you may imagine, is no very agreeable companion, except to the gentleman of her choice. Now who do you think he is? No other than my earliest idol, the young, handsome, rich and fascinating Eugene Courtland! You remember how I used to rave concerning this same Eugene, and when he studied for the ministry, how good I, too, suddenly became! Well, this very hero of my young dreams, is the fiancé of my fair cousin.

"But the best of the tale you have yet to hear-for though they seem devoted to each other, and I sincerely believe they are, he in a fit of romantic enthusiasm, has resolved to leave his betrothed and go abroad as a missionary! Why, I cannot fancy-for with his celebrity he could always gain notice, and with his attractions | always win admiration.

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ther I shall be able to make these young lovers quarrel, remains to be seen; but, if perseverance can ensure the result, I have nothing to fear."

With timid steps, Gertrude entered the church, where, it might be, for the last time, she was to hear the lofty eloquence that so long had haunted her spirit. Her cheek was pale, and looked pure as snow in the sunlight, contrasted with the dark ringlets clustering beside it. Heavy tears gathered in her eyes, and her mother and cousin, noticing her emotion, exchanged glances in silence. To Gertrude, no thought was present, save one sad anticipation of the future, and her vision was only broken by the deep, earnest voice that made her sweetest music. She trembled when those tones fell on her ear, as she remembered with how much of earthly love she approached the shrine of Heaven. "It is for the last time!" her heart whispered, even while it accused; and she did not struggle to correct a fault which might never be committed by her again.

Few were there who looked without interest on the young and gifted being standing before them, wrapt in holy devotion. Strange beauty was on his pale thoughtful brow, round which the bright hair shone like a gol den halo, and in the soft, liquid eyes that were clear and placid as the Heaven he preached. The rich red lips had besought comfort for many a mourner, and the peaceful smile which parted them, reflected unshadowed the loveliness of his spirit.

Gertrude gazed almost in idolatry, as she listened to the words of unfeigned humility, uttered by one so favored among men; and when, for the last time, he invoked a blessing on his hearers, the kind hopes of ma

piness. Long and solemn was the voiceless pause that followed his parting benediction, and with a faltering step the missionary left the sacred temple he might enter no more. His pale, spiritual face, glowed with heavenly enthusiasm, and if some earthly sorrow mingled there, it served only to adorn the brow it saddened.

In silence that day the lovers met and parted, for the hearts of both were too full for expression; and after a single pressure of his loved one's hand, Courtland left her to seek consolation in solitude and prayer.

"I believe Gertrude would willingly marry him, even now, and go with him, but my aunt has other prospects for her, and I suppose she will be left to lose at the same | time both her spirits and her lover. In truth I do not much pity these two, though Gertrude is my cousin and Eugene was my worshipped-one;' for she positively provokes me with her want of character, and I have never quite forgiven him his indifference to mes beaux yeux. I expect the romance will end in his dying any hearts were whispered in supplications for his hapmartyr's death among the savages, and her being led to the altar by some persecuting suitor, as a broken hearted bride. This last occurrence would not surprise me; for Gertrude's sweet, spiritless manners, please the men here, and her mother is strongly advocating a certain rich gentleman's cause. He is silent, stupid, and some twenty years older than his ladye-love; but my aunt, in her worldly wisdom, has forgotten to count his follies and years, while counting his wealth. Is it not refreshing to find among the sentimentalists of the present day, one whose aims and views are so like our own, as those of ma tante? Gertrude's goodness tires me, and I feel relief in looking on the politic manœuvres of her mother, who, by the way, has made me promise to use my influence in changing my cousin's feelings for Courtland. Gertrude was alone in her room, thinking mournfully When this was first proposed, I made a show of reluc- of coming days, when a letter was given her, and the tance, and talked a good deal of nonsense about blight-single glance that showed Eugene's writing, called a ed affections, blasted hopes et tout cela, just to impress bright blush to her fair young cheek. my companion with a due sense of my exalted disposi The note was from Courtland, and contained these tion. After the graceful opposition had been carried far lines: "Gertrude, dear Gertrude! when we met yesenough for my purpose, I became gradually convinced terday, I could not speak, even to you; so many meby her sound reasoning, began to discover that Ger- mories of scenes gone, so many thoughts of those to trude's 'strange infatuation' should be discouraged, and come, were crowding upon me-and even now I write then gave the required assent. I could not have been you these hurried words because I would not risk, by a allotted a more pleasant task; for Gertrude, as you meeting, the composure we are each endeavoring to atmay see, is no great favorite of mine, and I long to be tain. I am aware, dearest, that many deem my deterrevenged on Courtland for his want of taste; so I take mination to go abroad, a rash and useless one; you too, every possible opportunity of ridiculing him, and try to might think it argued indifference to the vows which pique her into anger at his late determination. With bind us, did you not know me well enough to forbid a him, I can do nothing; for even I, the proud and suc-doubt of the love which has been yours for years. Even cessful coquette of the last winter, feel abashed before they who smile most scornfully at what they term my the calm, holy dignity of his perfect beauty! Whe-l wild enthusiasm, would cease to contemn the resolve,

CHAPTER III.

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