and the amiable Mrs. Barker for many acts of kindness during the time I was laboring under a tremendous loss by fire. One evening, when I was drinking tea with her at her lodgings, she showed me a little book in which she had put down Mr. Nollekens's way of spelling words in 1780, with the manner in which they should be written. I copied a few of them with her permission, which, I must say, she gave me with some reluctance, notwithstanding she disliked Nollekens most cordially, though they were both Catholics." "Mr. Nollekens, when modelling the statue of Pitt, for the Senate House, Cambridge, threw his drapery over his man Dodimy, who after standing in an immovable position for the unconscionable space of two hours, had permission to come down and rest himself; but the poor fellow found himself so stiff, that he could not move. What!' exclaimed Nollekens, can't you move yourself? then you had better stop a bit.' I am sorry to say there are other artists who go on painting with as little compassion for their models.-Mr. Arminger has declared that, in eating, nothing could exceed the meanness of Mr. and Mrs. Nollekens; for whenever they had a present of a leveret, which they always called a hare, they contrived, by splitting it, to make it last for two dinners for four persons. The one half was roasted, and the other jugged." "In the year 1817, in the 74th year of her age, his congenial partner was taken away from the light of the sun of her life,' as she termed her husband, and the disconsolate Nollekens soon sported two mould candles instead of one; took wine oftener; sat up later; laid in bed longer, and would, though it made no change whatever in his coarse manner of feeding, frequently ask his morning visitor to dine with him and I have been informed that the late Rev. Thomas Kerrick, Principal Librarian of the University Library of Cambridge, to my very great astonishment, had stomach enough to partake of one of his repasts. As for my part, his viands were so dirtily cooked with half melted butter, mountains high of flour, and his habits of eating so filthy, that he never could prevail upon me to sicken myself at any one of his feasts.” THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 66 [The late Admiral Burney went to school at an establishment where the unhappy Eugene Aram was usher subsequent to his crime. The admiral stated, that Aram was generally liked by the boys; and that he used to discourse with them about murder, in somewhat of the spirit which is attributed to him in this poem.] Twas in the prime of summer time, And four and twenty happy boys There were some that ran and some that leapt Away they sped with gamesome minds, Like sportive deer they coursed about, But the Usher sat remote from all, His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease: So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees! Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, Nor ever glanced aside; For the peace of his soul he read that book And pale, and leaden-eye'd. At last he shut the ponderous tome; Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took,- That pored upon a book! "My gentle lad, what is't you readRomance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable ?" The young boy gave an upward glance,— "It is The Death of Abel.'" The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain,— And talk'd with him of Cain; And, long since then, of bloody men, And hid in sudden graves; Are seen in dreams from God! He told how murderers walk the earth "And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme, Wo, wo, unutterable wo Who spill life's sacred stream! For why? Methought, last night, I wrought One that had never done me wrong- I led him to a lonely field, The moon shone clear and cold: Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And, lo! the universal air Seem'd lit with ghastly flame,Teu thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame; Oh God, it made me quake to see My head was like an ardent coal, My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, A dozen times I groan'd; the dead Of the blood-avenging sprite :"Thou guilty man! take up thy dead, And hide it from my sight!' I took the dreary body up, And cast it in a stream,- Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, Oh heaven, to think of their white souls, I could not share in childish prayer, And peace went with them one and all, And drew my midnight curtains round, All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep; From weary chime to chime, That rack'd me all the time,- One stern, tyrannic thought, that made Did that temptation crave,― Heavily I rose up,-as soon As light was in the sky,- The dewdrop from its wing; With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, And all that day I read in school, But my thought was other where ; As soon as the mid-day task was done, In secret I was there: And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, Then down I cast me on my face, That earth refused to keep; Oh God, that horrid, horrid dream And my red right hand grows raging hot, And still no peace for the restless clay The horrid thing pursues my soul,— That very night, while gentle sleep THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR IN VIENNA. To welcome the coming, speed the parting guest," is so universal an instinct among the human race, that it can lead us to rejoice over the loss of an integral portion of our very existence, and to hail the dawning sun of a new year, forgetful that its main object is to light the pilgrims of the earth their way to dusty death." In London, thanks to parliaments and fox-hunters, who have introduced a new style into the fashionable calendar, New Year's Day is left to mere plebeian celebration; but, on the continent, it still remains the first signal for the renewal of social intercourse, -the harbinger of the gaieties of the Carnival,-the rallying point for dismembered families. Under its magnetic influence, the absent return,the frugal wax generous,-the reserved open their hearts and their houses! Woe to the female form which does not on that day prove the powers of some new adornment,-and woe to the soupirant who neglects the occasion of doing rich and fitting homage to its antecedent attractions! L'ami de la maison who wishes to secure himself an appetizing perspective of future dinners, must not omit to repay the luxuries of the past by an à compte of sugar plums and gilt paper on the eventful day "à Strenna consacré," and the " step-dames and dowagers, who wither out a young man's revenue" by their obstinate adherence to the possession of many happy new years, must be duly propitiated by liberal sacrifices on the very altar which renders their worship hateful. I have more than once witnessed the excitement produced in France by the arrival of le jour des étrennes. I have seen elderly gentlemen in full costume,-buckles, silk stockings, and pigtails,-simper the livelong day from house to house, with the cornet et compliment d'usage. I have seen bonbons distributed in the service, and under the influence of every passion; for love, vanity and ambition, contribute in equal shares to the débit of the Rue des Lombards. But the acknowledged, the almost sient and dazzling brightness might boasted levity of the French charac- still farther tax the well-worn simile ter, renders these inconsistencies a of maiden fame,-where the rich ammatter of little marvel. Among the ber tubes, studded with blue enamel, Germans, the sober, undemonstra- afford objects of no niggardly interest. tive, deliberate Germans,-I was sur- Bohemian pearls, whose size and lusprised to find the Neu Jahr a festival tre compensate for their want of oriof equal importance, and commemo- ental regularity,-garnets from the rated with almost equal frivolity. same rich land,-opals, chrysophrases Anxious to note every variation of and turquoises from Hungary, as well popular character, I mingled on the as the glittering topazes of Silesia, last day of the year with the idlers of were not less in request. The eternal the Graben, which is the Bond-street almanacs of every literary city or vilor Rue Vivienne of Vienna. lage of the empire-(où diable les belles-lettres vont-elles se nicher !)— Uranias, Mnemosynes, Auroras, appeared to attract only the petite-maîtresse and the setimental universitystudent; while the painted cards exhibited in thousands in the same shops, whose transpositions usually illustrate some far-fetched specimen of German pleasantry, afford a cheap resource to those economists whose friends are enriched with a numerous offspring. What cheerful faces met me at every step! What a gay appearance every shop had assumed to entice the wary and to ruin the generous! The porcelain, rivalling that of Sévres, the millinery, affecting to be an importation from the banks of the Seine, -the varnished wares of Nuremberg, -the delicate carvings of Berchtolsgaden, the lackered saints of Augsburg, enchased in fillagree,-put forth in turn their daintiest allurements. It appeared, however, to my casual observation, that the character of the purchasers,—of the frequenters of the galanterie shops, differed materially from that of the coureurs des boutiques in Paris. There is more frankness, more simple plain-dealing worthiness, more loyauté, about an untravelled German, than I have found in the native of any other continental country; and the spirit which dictated such purchases as fell under my observation was, without exception, that of affectionate good will. The utility of the objects selected, the taste of the intended possessor, were consulted in preference to that passion for display which is so generally-actuating a motive with the French. To myself, as a stranger in the land, the purchasers themselves were objects of stronger interest than those articles heaped before them on the counters. On that day, all ranks became inevitably united. The high and puissant Princess of Hungary, preceded by a gorgeous Heiduke, descends from a splendid carriage, of which the coachman is enveloped in the richest furs of Siberia, and the hussar behind is glittering with embroidery, at the door of the same warehouse to which the simple Bauermädchen, the peasant-girl of the Wiener-wald, clad in an ample scarlet petticoat and towering gold cap, brings her well-hoarded florin. In the strife between extortion and frugality, you hear the guttural patois of the Faubourg contrasted with the mincing affectation of the Saxon dialect; nay, I will not certify, however, that colored paper and gilding,-ormoulu and mother-of-pearl,-wreaths of Lil--for Austria extends her "leaden liputian roses, comestibles of papiermaché, and fruit of plaster of Paris, not intended to be maché at all,-had not their share of amateurs. But the crowd was more than equally distributed in the Niederlagen of the venders of Meerschaum pipes, whose tran mace" over many tongues and many nations,-you may hear on one side the softest accents of the lingua Toscana, and on the other the less polished, but equally musical language of Sclavonia. The dark-browed Jew in his furry tunic, apparently escaped towards the now deserted bastions. from one of Rembrandt's pictures, the motley throng, I direct my steps mingles with the excited crowd in hopes of securing a bargain; the Greek's high cap is seen above the sea of heads; and the scowling Turk turns hastily away as the plan of Navarin greets him among the splendid engravings in Artaria's window. There, too, stands the chartered mendicant-the wild Slavack from the mountains, with his coarse but picturesque white woollen draperies, and his long matted hair escaping from under his broad-flapped hat; who, despite his wretchedness, looks down with scorn upon the ragged Zingaro, the Paria of Hungary, whose appeal to the charity of passengers is as loud and fervent as starvation can make it. These, however, are objects which may be found on the same spot every day in the year; it is only on the last, that a spirit of universal animation sparkles upon every countenance, and heightens every voice into exclamation. The murmur of the crowded street deepens till it resembles the roar of a stormy sea; and the loud laugh of the merry girl, who is coaxing a parsimonious grandmother at my side, becomes lost in the general confusion. To escape from the din of How unexpected-how glorious a spectacle, greets me on my ascent! The last sun of 1827 is setting clear and brilliant, and magnificent as a king who abdicates his throne in the splendor of his pride. The Vienne is pouring its tributary waters into the Danube like a stream of radiant lava. The cupola of St. Carl looks like a crown of glory, and the numerous spires of the Vorstadt seem tipped with fire. Beyond, the distant mountains, receding far in the horizon, appear obscured by a veil of gold; and, over all, the glowing sky shines as though half its secret glories were revealed for a moment! But those mountains, melting in the clouds,-that mighty stream, which flows at their feet,-yonder busy crowd, stretching far away in the distance,-they are not of my country, they are not of my race! Their waters are waters of bitterness to me; and " I have no part in them or theirs.” But why should I speak of this ?— To-day is a season of rejoicing; and those who have words of grief or wisdom to unfold, must speak with a still small voice, or defer them for a time. THE VOICE OF THE WIND. BY MRS. HEMANS. "There is nothing in the wide world so like the voice of a spirit."-GRAY'S LETTERS. On! many a voice is thine, thou Wind! full many a voice is thine, Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their wastes brought back Thou art come from forests dark and deep, thou mighty rushing Wind! |