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ed the Academy I was an idle, listless boy, fonder stirring up the young performers themselves to emof every thing by far than mental labor—and al- ulation. I have never heard but one satisfactory though in a certain extent ambitious, it was a dreamy answer to the enquiry,--and that is,--that so few and thoughtless ambition, without object and with conductors of schools are themselves masters of oot energy. Ogilvie inspired me with new desires. elocution. If this be true, why is it not acquired He touched some sympathetic chord which instant- and practised as a distinct profession? Why is the ly responded, and from that moment I felt that there art itself permitted to hold adverse possession of was a divine spark in the human mind, at least in the stage from which so large a part of the commine, which might be fanned into a flame and which muniry is necessarily excluded ? Say what we was infinitely of more value and of more true en- may of the grave and solid studies, or of the imjoyment, than the mere pleasures of sense. The portance of mastering the physical and moral sciendistinguishing faculty of the man was the power of ces, it is gladness of heart which can alone lighten rousing the mind from its torpor and lending it intellectual toil, and the heart's emotions are most wings, but whether he could always control its readily reached through the medium of eloquence. Alight afierwards, or skilfully direct its good and It is said that knowledge is power, and, if poets are evilimpolses, was matter of doubt with those whose to be believed, so is eloquence. opporlonities were ample for observing and study. ing his character. I believe that the chief agency

Power above powers ! O heavenly eloquence !

That with the strong rein of commanding words by which he exercised his influence was his some

Dost manage, guide, and masier th' eminence what peculiar mode of imparting instruction by

of men's affections more than all their swords ! lecture. The regnlar branches of learning, as taoght in most seminaries, were confided to assis. But Poets are not the only authority for this opintants (among whom was John Wood, of mathe- ion. All history.--all ages and nations agree, that matical celebrity)—but the lecturer's chair, or chair from Cicero down to the “ foresi-born Demostheof elocution, in which Ogilvie took such especial nes” of our own land, there is a magic on the lips pride, he reserved for himself. To me, at least, of some, which captivates the soul and imposes bis power in that department seemed almost resist. willing slavery on its victims. less, and if it be permitted to judge of others by But how is this wonderful art to be studied and results, I should say there were few who escaped acquired? I am aware that many think the pulpit, the sympathetic influence of the orator. I am the forum or legislative hall, is the best and most aware that intelligent, and I presume, unprejudiced efficient school. Il is obvious, however, that the men have formed a different estimate of his pow. student who confines himself to the study of such ers. It was principally objected that his manner models must learn chiefly by imitation and be alwas pompous, inflated, and by no means natural, most entirely without the benefit of previous inand probably in the judgment of mature years, there struction. If there are occasionally master spirits is reason in the objection. The hey-day blood of and prodigies of genius who rise to eminence with youth, however, was more easily taken captive. 1 few extrinsic aids, they are only exceptions to the remember how thrillingly from the reciter's lips the general rule, that methodized labor is necessary to first sounds of Parnell's Hermit and Collins' Ode intellectual distinction. If Henry, at the bar, and to the Passions fell upon my ear and heart. These in the legislative hall, and Devereux Jarrati, (the and many other examples of English verse I en- Whitefield of Virginia.) in the pulpit, were rare exjoyed for the first time. They produced wild and amples of extraordinary endowment, without prestrange emotions, and made impressions which have liminary training,—here are innumerable examples never been forgotten. Collins' Ode to the Pas- to the contrary. sions was one of Ogilvie's favorite compositions. Ogilvje valued the eloquence of the lecture only After he had made his class familiar with it as a as a means and not as an end. He applied it to whole, he divided the ode into its several appropri- useful elementary knowledge.--to geography,-ate parts, and assigned the personation of each par. history, and the philosophy of grammar, as well as ticular passion to some selected popil.

to that greater art of exploring the fountain of huHaving passed through the customary labors of man sympathies. In the exercise of this art, he rehearsal.—the actors were prepared for a finished was certainly in a high degree successful, except representation of the poem, and so well did the ex- with those who from cold temperament or other periment succeed in the school, i hat ihe same was cause resisted and repelled such influence. To a repeated in the State Capitol before a brilliant and Virginian ear, his elocution was complained of beadmiring audience. I have often wondered why cause of its Scottish accent, but if that were a dethe managers of education and purveyors to litera- fect, it was susficiently compensated by great fervor ty lasle, consulting their own pecaniary advantage of feeling --fullness and power of voice --intellecif nothing else, should neglecithis simple and harm tual expression of countenance and grace, if not maless mode of giving reputation to a school, -of de. jesty, of gesture. There was something I doubt not lighting the public with the performance and of a little theatrical in his tragic stride, which would not have been approved by mature criticism, but of skepticism. On that very occasion to which I the young heart did not stop 10 reason about pro- refer,--at night,-in the Capitol of Virginia,prieties and refinements; it yielded to the " soft Ogilvie renounced and repudiated his previous fale impeachment" of what it felt to be dramatic and opinions and without hesitation confessed his faith effective, without ever consulting the schools on in the great truths and doctrines of christianity. the subject.

This solemn declaration he repeated in several sueOf Ogilvie's conversational powers, I have no ceeding lectures. sufficient means of judging,-having only met with Whether or not he retained and practised these him iwice or thrice after the completion of my freshly embraced sentiments and doctrines up to the scholastic period. I remember his finding me out time of his departure from Virginia for Scotland, at an obscure town where I first resided as a young I cannot decide. I fear from subsequent erents, practitioner of law, and we spent two or three hours that Christianity with him was, as it is with thoustogether of joyous hilarity,--in which he manifest- ands, a mere theory,-a beautiful abstraction, ed his characteristic partiality for his pupils. He having its dwelling-place in the visions of fancy, spoke familiarly about the past, and the projected rather than in the citadel of the heart. future, and I think he was then upon one of his His career after this time, is only known to me itinerant expeditions, in which having sunk the by report and parily throngh the medium of transmore humble profession of preceptor, he had aspi- atlantic publications. Ogilvie was the heir and dered to the doubiful arena of display as a public scendant of a long line of distinguished Scottish rhetorician. It was nearly a year afterwards, that ancestors. (See Douglas' Peerage.) By the death circumstances carried me to the State of Kentucky, of the last nobleman of the House of Finlater and where I spent the winter in the hospitable man- Airly,—the title and estates devolved upon him, and sion of D-, one of Ogiivie's former popils,--a notwithstanding his early republican sentiments he gentleman, whose capacious heart and head after. did not hesitate to accept the new honors and ad wards exalted him to high stations under the fede- vantages offered in his native land. He embarked ral government. I remember on a dark rainy night for London on his way 10 Scotland and sojourned as the family encircled the fireside in social con- for a time in that great emporium. During his verse, the outer door was opened to the admission stay, whether from some eclat acquired as an Amerof a colored servant, with dripping overcoat and ican Orator, or from some aristocratic attraction lo benumbed fingers, who proved to be a messenger the new Scottish Lord, he was invited to deliver a from Ogilvie, then residing in the mountain wilder- lecture to the Surrey Institution, said at that time to ness of that State. He brought a letter highly be a place of elegant resort and sustained by the descriptive of the writer's condition, plans, and wealth and talent of the British metropolis. His prospects. The orator had rented a retired room acceptance of that honor was undoubtedly the cein a spacious cabin for the purpose of composing casion of a severe trial to a frame constitotionally lectures for future delivery in public, and had care nervous and rendered more so by the habitual use fully stipulated with his landlady against the slight- of opiates and narcotics. The gaze of a London est introsion upon his solitary labors. His schemes audience, combining the gravity of wisdom with however had been more comprehensive than his the dazzling splendor of youth and beauty overpow

He needed that indispensable requisite to ered the lecturer. His effort was feeble and abarhuman comfort a circulating medium, and the main live. He retired in silence from the lighted hall, object of his message, despatched through tempes- overwhelmed with confusion! It was a sad ineituous skies, was to borrow from his old pupil. The dent in a career, which in some respects at least had money was sent, the lectures were composed, - been brilliant, and acting upon a mind peculiarly and the next time that I met with James Ogilvie, sensitive, it was probably the fatal cause of a more was in the metropolis of Virginia, where I heard melancholy catastrophe. He reached his Scottish with real pleasure one of those brilliant creations estate,-worn out in body and spirit, -disappointof a Kentucky log cabin, which were so much ad- ed in hope and crushed in ambition. He perished mired by thousands on the Atlantic seaboard. I by his own hand! well remember an interesting fact connected with I have often felt strangely sad in contemplating this lecture, the discovery of which was gratifying this mournful end of my early preceptor. With all to many of the former pupils and friends of the ora- his shining qualities, he was not exempt from the tor. When first an emigrant from Scotland, he weaknesses and frailties of humanity. His genewas young, ardent and strongly imbued with the rous impulses were doubtless often counteracted infidel philosophy of that day. Godwin's Political by a spirit of misanthropy, and perhaps of bitterJustice, and works of a kindred character were the ness, and with all that there was in the path of life themes of his unreserved eulogy, but it was im- to cheer him, it was his fitful nature to experience possible for a mind like his to resist the steady and at times~ constant light which beamed from so many intel

that dreary void lectual sources and dissipated the flimsy sophistries

The leafless desert of the mind.

means.

BY P. P. COOKE.

But peace forever to his ashes !—Who can fathom

THE GREGORIES OF HACKWOOD. the mysterious struggles and trials of the human heart?

In the language of a favorite bard, whose words I have often heard repeated from the eloquent lips

CHAPTER 1. of Ogilvie himself,

An old stone house, of great dimensions, stands No farther seek his merits to disclose,

on a slight elevation in the midst of a champaign Or draw bis frailties from their dread abode, country. A stream with a musical Indian name, (There ihey alike in trembling hope repose,) which our Virginia country folk have not benefitThe bosom of his father and his God.

ted in the pronunciation, bends aside from its course, H. OF RICHMOND.

to sweep the circular base of the unusual hill. Miles Gregory, at the date of my story, lived in

this house, which he called Hackwood, and was NOTg.-It is stated in the text, that many distinguished the owner of many thousand acres of the lands Virginians, both in Council and the field, and of professional around it : a great estate, but deplorably neglected, eminence, were indebted to Ogilvie for much of their early and reduced to the appearance of a barren. eru eation. Without enumerating the honored dead, I will refer to living instances,—with the remark that if I had

It was near twilight of a summer evening. The been at liberty to consult my own pleasure, and circum- walls of Hackwood were growing dusky and somstances had allowed it, I should have applied to these gen. bre. The grim high-peaked gables, darkening into tlemen, (most of them personally known to me,) for their deep cornices, had lost the glare of day, and were own recollections of the subject of this hasty sketch, be not yet yellow in the light of the harvest moon, fore I had undertaken it. By so doing I should doubtless which trembled on the line of the eastern landhave been enabled to correct some errors into which I may have fallen; bul as my object was not an accurate biogra- scape, tipping the dewy tops of the ash, dogwood, phical notice, but a mere transcript from individual memo- and redbud coverts which extended far away in an iy, the omission referred to will be readily excused. Of unbroken wilderness. These peaked gables were those who were among the first pupils of Ogilvie in Virgi. none the less gloomy for the desolate din of the dia, and are now living-may be mentioned the great American Captain, the conqueror of Mexico, and Brigadier Gen. martins and barn-swallows which swarmed about eral George Brooke. The two Jones's, General Roger them. At several hundred yards from the house, Jones and Commodore Catesby Jones,—the Hon. Wm. S. was a burial ground. It seemed to be very old. Archer, late V. S. Senator; Judge John Robertson, late The wall about it was sinking into ruin. The M. C., - John S. Barbour, of Culpeper, late M. C..-and stones had, in many places, fallen out, leaving their Doctor Henry Curtis , of Hanover, a distinguished physi: coping of plank to span wide gaps.

A few locust cian, were all students at the Richmond Academy. I must not forget my excellent friend, Governor Duval of Florida, trees, overrun with wild vines, grew amongst bro. formerly of Kentucky, and referred to in the foregoing ken tombstones and sunken graves. As twilight sketch, who was also a student in Richmond, somewhat be- drew on, one might have seen a horseman approach fore my time ; and perhaps it is also proper to state that the this burial ground, dismount, fasten his horse outvenerable editor of the Washington Union was Ogilvie's side, leap the broken wall, and seat himself upon assistant in the early part of the latter's career as Instructor. Whether Mr. Ritchie was previously a pupil, I am not

a tombstone. He was a tall, well proportioned informed. There are doubtless several now living whose man of about five and twenty, with long dark hair, Dames I have not mentioned and cannot now recall. a ready and graceful carriage, and wore the dress

of a gentleman. He sat until the moon began to
give a more distinct light, and then left his seat and
looked toward Hackwood. As he did so, two fe-
male figures advanced from the shadows of the
| house, and approached him. One, a slender girl

with a light step, came swiftly before the other. LINES

The last comer, a taller and statelier person, ad

vanced at a more sedate pace. As they came near, Addressed impromptu to Mrs. S., upon hearing her sing the the gentleman leaped the wall, and, with a few song of “ Marble Halls,from the opera of the Bohemian earnest words of welcome, caught the hands of

the slender girl and kissed her lips. He then sa

luted, more moderately, her companion, who loiterOh, breathe once again,

ed behind. These persons were Henry Grant, of That soul-touching strain!

Station, a gentleman of honour and intelligence, It lifts me from Earth to the Skies!

who had inherited from a spendthrift father a great 'Tis the Cherubim's note,

estate burthened with a perfect confusion of debts, From thy mocking.bird throal,

and Joan and Anne, the two daughters of Miles And it melis like the ray from thine eyes. Gregory, of Hackwood. Joan, the tall and sedate

W. W. lady, walked away at a slow step, making a circuit

Girl.

VOL. XIV-68

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of the burial-ground. Henry Grant and Anne en out servant after servant, until but two or three Gregory, siuting side by side, conversed in low feeble old creatures, who refuse to be driven away, tones. They were lovers. After the conversation remain. He wanders about his empty rooms hall had continued for some time, the gentleman said — clothed. Ride at noon-day to Hackwood, and you

“ It is very annoying, dear Anne, to be driven will find a poor sad girl, clad like a non in black to this questionable mode of meeting you. We serge, hiding from the cruel eyes of the world, are equals, we love each other, there is no good even from her lighter-hearted sister, a miserable reason why we should not be man and wife"- here old man, wasted for want of food, and who, instead he pressed the girl's hand, and his tone became of greeting you as an honorable suilor for his daugh. most serious and genile--" and yet you compel me ter's hand, will insult you with wretched suspicions to lurk about your father's house and steal this that you come to force yourself on his hospitality. sweet intercourse. Why should I not ride to From such a house, and such miseries, shame has Hackwood at noon- m-day, and meet you as equals made me exclude you." meet ?"

At these words, ultered by Joan resolutely and “ Master Henry," replied the girl, with a sweet with little apparent ernotion-for the tides of the smile, “it is Joan that prevents your coming to proud girl's nature were deep--Anne wept as if Hackwood, and she must tell you why she does her heart would break. Henry, Grant succeeded,

after a time, in quieting her grief, and then said to As Anne spoke, the dark figure of her sister, Joanwith a black manile drooping from the inclined “ You draw a dreary picture. Why not permit head, became visible; her cirruit of the graveyard me to remove Anne as my wife, and yourself as had brought her near the speakers. She joined her good and kind sister, to a condition of comfort them, and said, as Anne ended

and happiness ?" " Yes, I have prevented your coming to Hack- “ Happiness !” said Joan Gregory. "How eoeld wood."

I be happy under your roof, with the dreams of “ There surely must be a good cause for it," Haekwood haunting me? No: I must remain said Henry Grant. "Your firm and just nature steadfast. I cannot leave my poor father. And does not give wanton pain.”

it would be a fatal blow if Anne left him. She is “Perhaps,” said Joan, “my reasons will appear the only one on earth whom he seems to love." to you to be bad or insufficient ; they are conclu- “ We can unite to watch over him," said Henry sive to me." The girl turned her thoughtful face Grant. “He can live in greater comfort with us to the moon, and was silent for a few moments. at Slatton.” At last she spoke with a sad energy

“ It cannot be so," Joan answered. "If I have “ It is our father's condition that has made me shrunk from admitting even you to our dismal home, shut the doors of our house against you. Ah! he because it would fill me with shame to have for is a most miserable man. The evening of life look upon my father's weakness, how could I lead which should bring with it calm affections, an equal him to your great house—10 be stared at-to be mind, cheerfulness and contentment, has brought laughed at by your very servants ? But this is not him nothing but wretchedness. It has increased Anne's answer. If drawn by love, she answers a passion, which he once ruled, into a madness otherwise, I cannot blame her." which now rules him. But surely you know what Ah! let os talk of these things at another time," I would say."

said Anne Gregory, with a sort of sorrowful pai“ That your poor father, Miles Gregory-once vete. “Must we never have a good, dear talk? Joan an accomplished gentleman--is cursed in his old is always unhappy; and you, master Henry, are age with the insanity of avarice. I know it." always arguing about coming to decisions, and say.

But, master Henry,” said Anne Gregory, great- ing the time has come for this thing or that thing." ly distressed, “Joan always sees things on their Henry Grant looked lenderly upon the beautiful dark sides. Our father is kind and gentle." girl and answered :

“Gentle to you Anne-sometimes ; not kind to “ I will not press you to a decision to-night; me any one,” Joan answered. A sob rnoved her white will find a time when we are all more buoyant and throat, but controlling it, she continued resolutely, hopeful. Your sister lakes, as you say,

dark views, “ None but his daughters know to what extreme and has depressed us a little." wretchedness he has sunk ; and only I of his daugh- As he spoke, he turned to Joan. Her face was ters fully-for I have stood between Anne and the pale ; her lips were quivering; her large bazel bitter knowledge of all--of details which could but eyes wore an expression of intense grief. have made her light heart as heavy as my own. I “ You have some peculiar grief," he said kindly; must speak even now in merely general terms. In “ something beyond the common sorrows of your the midst of wealth, he lives in a state of want. life, of which you have spoken, lo disturb you loI have indeed, more than once, saved him from-- night." from starvation. He has dismantled his house, driv. “ Yes, a peculiar grief," Joan answered.

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Two years

“Conceal nothing from me. Anne's love gives “ You are a true-hearted and brave man," said me a title to your confidence.”

Joan with flashing eyes.

“ It is Anne's rare good " I will confide everything to you,” said Joan good fortune that she has attached so excellent a slowly, and confirming herself into the fixed calm- nature to her own. I know you well. But this ness with which she had hitherto spoken. “ The burihen must not be added to the load you already friendship that listens to grief lessens it. The con- bear. There is a resource to be once more tried. dition of Lewis Gregory, our brother, is just now I have determined to make a final appeal to my a source of infinite distress to me. How much or poor father. Lewis shall be brought to Hackwood, how little of his struggle with life do you know ?" to join me in it. I think we shall find words which

"Speak as if I knew nothing," said Henry must bring relief; and if we succeed, it will be Grant.

a double relief. For it will be the removal from Anne pressed close to her lover's side, and Joan my father's heart of a portion of the terrible infirtold her brother's story.

mity which now destroys it. It will be a triumph " Lewis grew to manhood,” she began, “full of of right feeling over his insane love of riches. rare promise. He came to his father and mine, We will see. I have some hope.” and said - it is not suitable that the son of a gen- " And I hope," said Anne Gregory calmly," that ileman should sink from his position, and I have succeeding in these just purposes, we may soon chosen an honorable calling; give me the means of have a happier meeting than this has been.” beginning life, and I will take care of the rest.' Our The moon had climbed high before ihe sisters left poor father refused this just demand. Lewis be the scene of this interview and returned 10 the came a schoolmaster; devoted such time as he house. Henry Grant, reining his horse, saw them, could to the study of the law; finally came to the as he sat in his saddle, disappear in the shade of bar. He succeeded at once, and bade fair to be. its walls, and turning, rode away at a slow pace. come a distinguished man. He married a sweet and excellent woman. The world was full of good promise to him ; but a change came.

CHAPTER II. ago, with many lule children looking up to him for bread, and a sick wife to be nursed and cheer- In a large room of Hackwood, with a most des. ed, he suddenly found himself involved in debt. olare look, for it possessed scarcely any furniture, Perhaps the debts of others had fallen upon him, rambled an old man. His appearance was singufor his nature is kindly and generous; perhaps his lar. His body was thin and much stooped. His own want of worldly prudence brought the misery face had no flesh about it, and was peaked and upon him. But so it was. He found his condi. sharp in the features. His eyes were keen and tion almost hopeless. He applied to his father. restless, with a blending of suspicion and alarm He was again repulsed. Then he betook himself about them. His hair straggled in a thin line of Sternly to the labors of his profession. For one white around his head, leaving the top bald and year he bore his burtben hopefully; it grew lighter shining. His costume was antiquated, mean, and as he toiled on. In the beginning of the second patched. I introduce him to the reader the day year a terrible and fatal calamity overlook him. after the night scene between Henry Grant and the He became blind. The race was run. Now he sisters. siis a gentle, proud, but most helpless man, and " Jenkin," said the old man, in a peevish, sharp sorrows are crowding in upon him. His wife is tone--" Jenkie." sick, sheriffs are taking his property, his children A feeble old negro, scarcely in belter physical are without protection. It is for this reason that I condition than his master, came to the call. He am so sad to-night. Is it strange that I should be stood leaning on a stick, but said nothing. Miles $0 ?"

Gregory, the miser, who had called him, seemed to Joan torned her eyes upon her companions, as be seized with the same dearth of speech. At last, she ended, and smiled so wretchedly, that weeping however, he said : would have been more cheerful. Henry Grant, " When they come, Jenkin, don't leave me alone deeply moved, said :

with them-do you hear ?--don't leave me alone Your brother shall not go down alone. I will with them.” save him, or be ruined with him. You know well Who are coming, master ?'' said Jenkin. my own condition. When I became master of “ Don't you know," said the miser, fixing his Stallon, I found the fortunes of our house in great sharp eyes on the negro ; “ don't you know? Then danger. Since then I have been fighting, yard arm they have not bought you over. Lewis is coming to yard arm, with creditors, and am beginning to with the old story about want of money; and Joan

Energy will accomplish every- will be pestering me. They want to ruin me, Jenthing. But your blind brother is now to be a care kin, but the old man can take care of his own. of mine. I will place half of such a shield as I They will find him sharp, Jenkin, sharp and care

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have before him."

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