Chapter II: Part 2

I arose the next morning with a shattered frame and an aching heart, nor could my crazed philosophy destroy the blush with which memory every moment bitterly suffused my cheek. But was not drunkenness the attribute of genius! the unerring characteristic of intellect!--for while tradition sighed over the memory of the victims of intemperance, the lustre of genius awoke the pity of sympathy, the pardon of virtue, and the emulation of folly. All the promising young men who have sunk into a drunkard's grave, were full of high and lofty intelligence, and would have realized the proudest hope of fame but for this fatal excess of genius. Strange fatuity! and stranger that its rottenness should excite either our pity or forgiveness!

College life is a little dream of human passion and human infirmity. It is the same eternal track of disappointment, over which folly vaults and ambition staggers--a record of youthful happiness written on a summer's leaf, it glitters for the moment, and fades away beneath the spirit which freshens it into beauty. 'Tis the miniature arena in which human life first disports its vices, its hopes, and its imaginings--and if no other knowledge be acquired, the collegian can look with pride on his acquaintance with the world, its follies and its pleasures, and hug to his bosom that kernel of truth which has been wrested from the hard husk of disappointment. We had numerous debating societies, where the elements of government, the subtleties of law, and the vagaries of taste were nightly discussed. We were either orators or philosophers--the former declaiming in all the pomp of verbosity, the latter deciding in all the solemnity of silence. Newspapers were eagerly read, and many a maiden pen first fleshed itself in these shambles of faction. All write in Virginia for these greedy receptacles of morbid ire and political venom--and he who can sketch the hundredth-told tale, in improved bombast, or provincial dialect, becomes the little great man of the cross-roads, or struts the swelling Junius of the courtyard. Write in jagged orthography--the dictionary is at hand; scuffle through the rules of grammar--the printer has a happy talent of correcting by his own grammar; violate the sense of language and the chastity of style, for this is a trait of towering genius; but write, and write again, until you can gaze with triumph on the tenth number of some masterly Cato--some learned Sidney--or some eloquent Curtius. These compliments are the certain rewards of your labors--for the printer's praise is measured by your fustian, and that of his readers is gained by the length of your numbers.

I found Pilton, a student of reputation and character, which added bitterness to the malignity of my hate. Our meeting was cold, formal and ceremonious; and on my part, I was repulsive almost to direct insult. My hate was fierce, violent and untamed--but still it was open and undisguised, apparently losing its malice in good breeding, and its assassin-like propensity in honor. As usual, his habits of intense application had given him a high rank both in his class and in the esteem of the professors, while his ill-breeding was forgotten in the light which learning threw around him. To all my open attacks, secret insinuations, and malevolent hints, he exposed that affected candor and subtle magnanimity, which neutralized the poison and blunted the edge of my weapons.

There was a ball at the Old Raleigh during the Christmas holydays, to which the city as well as its vicinity sent a numerous representation of those soft, fragile and dove-like females, who, springing like so many Venus' from the bosom of the sea, claim their home only in the tranquil and affectionate hearths of tide-water Virginia. Like the mocking bird, their dwelling place is amid the ripple of the murmuring tide, while their song is the melody which thrills into life the fearful and eternal solitude of the pine forests. When I entered the room, the dance was exultingly triumphant, and each mazy figure was softened into intense interest by that joyousness of mirth which takes its pride of place only from early hearts and youthful hopes. One girl instantly arrested my attention; and the long, deep and ardent gaze which I directed towards her, mantled her cheek with a deep and struggling blush, giving that delicate tint which, like the fabled rose, twines itself around, only to bloom over the pallid countenance of disease. She was pale, attenuated and fragile, with that dewy-like softness which is stolen from the couch of sickness, and that tranquil firmness which shows both a capability of happiness, and a peaceful resignation at the want of it. Her form was full of grace and symmetrical beauty, and her eye, like a glow-worm, lit up the saddened paleness of her face. How wonderful is the contagion of friendship! How curious are the hallowed sympathies of love! Unseen though felt--unknown though experienced, they breathe that pathos of congeniality, which in exciting attachment, confirms constancy, and which ever leaves us to wonder not so much at their commencement as at their continuance. I do not know that my appearance was calculated to impress the heart of the fair girl who trembled under my searching gaze; but her blush truly responded to the passion, poetry and sympathy which my eyes discoursed, and I soon found that the shadowy gloom of my countenance had arrested her kindness and excited her curiosity. I was soon formally introduced, though in the confusion of the moment I did not hear her name; and on her complaint of fatigue, I led her to a retired seat, and in a short time we were fairly launched into that great sea of conversation, the mental difference of the sexes--a subject on which man ever shows his ill-nature, and woman her superiority. I found her mind opening like the flowers of the wilderness in richness, variety and freshness, and her wit leaping and gambolling like an uncaged bird. I poured out all the long-hived treasures of my erudition, disclosed the whole extent of my learning, and disported all the little elegancies and graces of my nature. I could tell her no secret of taste, or display no gem of literature, with which she was not familiar; and looking up in her tranquil and placid face, I took no note of time, or of the whispers of the crowd, which had declared me "a case."

Towards the conclusion of the ball, a gentleman taking advantage of a pause in our conversation, addressed her by the name of Miss Pilton. Good God! how that word rang and tingled through the deepest recesses of my heart, and how quickly did my hate leap up to it as a fortuitous gift for its demoniac revenge.

"Are you the sister," I inquired, "of Mr. Henry Pilton, now at William and Mary?"

"I am his only sister," was her reply. "You certainly know him, and if you do not, you must seek his acquaintance. I will tell him that I am about to make you my friend, and he will love you for my sake."

"I do know him," I answered; "he is studious and intelligent, and possesses the esteem and confidence of all the professors."

She rewarded this constrained, though frank avowal, with a smile--and in the rapture of her joy, she betrayed all that confidence which her brother's pride had deposited in her bosom, and told with enthusiasm the little history of his ambition, his fears, and his hopes. He boldly anticipated every honor within the compass of society; and that proud determination to be great, which invigorated his youthful ambition, added a deeper hue of malignity to the venom of my hate.

"He hardly gives me time," she said, "to love him; for gazing like the eagle on the sun, he never looks down on the insipid dulness of earth. I do not admire students, Mr. Granby; they are cold and selfish, and though they gain our flattery, they rarely win our hearts."

I construed this remark, though made at the expense of her brother, as a compliment to myself, and soon gained her smiles, by many sarcasms which I levelled at pedants, scholars and students. Without professing flattery, I pleased her by a ready acquiescence of sentiment and opinion; and anticipating her pride of sex and her tenderness of heart, I lauded in the richest language of quotation, woman's love, and woman's constancy. The artlessness of her character, and the simplicity of her nature, could not hide from my vanity the favorable impression I had made on her heart. I looked on my victim with some emotions of pity, and paused for a moment under the goading sting of conscience; yet the fiend-like passion which rioted on my life, told me that the ruin of her peace, and the destruction of her happiness, would be the proudest victory which my hate could achieve.

Leaving her for a few moments, I looked around at the mirthful throng which filled the room, and sauntered to the _bar_, which was a point where conversation converged its focus. About a table prodigally ornamented with decanters and glasses, were collected numerous groups of young men, who were all talking at the same time on beauty, horseracing, politics and duelling. Here and there a solitary tobacco chewer might be seen, stealing to some fire place or window, and enjoying in mute rapture, the filth, excitement and grossness of his depraved appetite. Two or three youthful legislators from the adjoining counties, were flaunting their maiden honors in the broad light of political vanity--while four elderly gentlemen, in embroidered waistcoats and fair-top boots, were eloquently deprecating the onward march of democracy, which made the legislature a mob of demagogues, and the ball room a collection of fine clothes and vulgarity. This was my uncle's favorite theme, and from the folly of such croaking aristocracy, common sense and not education had delivered me. An aged negro, the "harmonious Phillips" of the country, dressed in the ample costume of the old school, with a powdered head, a large knob of watch seals, and a silver ship in his bosom, controlled with fierce tyranny his partners of the bow, fife and triangle. Bowing almost to the floor, he would ever and anon cry out in a magisterial tone, _cross over_--_forward_--_turn your partners_--_done_, and catching the inspiration of catgut and rosin, his ivory teeth were displayed like the keys of a piano-forte, while his broad face fairly laughed itself into ecstasy.

At the conclusion of the ball, I became the solitary escort of Miss Pilton. The moon was shining coldly and brightly over the world; and when I was about to leave my fair charge, looking up she exclaimed, "How beautiful!--how melancholy!--it makes me almost a poetess. What a contrast to the busy crowd we have just left; oh! that human life was as cloudless, and human love as pure!"

There was no affectation in this rhapsody--no girlish sentiment in the display; for nature called forth the gushing softness of her heart, and I quickly took advantage of this moment of philosophic romance.--Where is the lover who has not found the moon his silent yet most impassioned advocate, and who, when gazing on its mellow light, has not caught that saddened sympathy which brightens every dark spot in the horizon of the heart.

"Yes," I replied, "it is the same cloud-wrapt sphere which has always looked down on the little drama of human folly, unmoved amid the desolations of death and the fall of empires, forever whispering love, and exalting the best affections of our nature. Marriages must be made in _heaven_--and this pale messenger, in expanding the heart, almost persuades me that it is commissioned to teach love and awaken affection."

Ere she could reply, I placed a leaf of evergreen in her hand, and uttered enough of love to call a burning blush to her cheek. I lingered for a few moments at the door, and on leaving the scene, I turned around to gaze on the being who was thus insensibly falling into the toils of my duplicity. I saw her place in her bosom the treacherous emblem which I had given her; and as the silvery light of the moon trembled over her marbled brow and placid countenance, I almost believed that its rays had claimed that spot, as the only tranquil home in the wide world on which they might kiss themselves into slumber.

THETA.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LETTERS FROM A SISTER.

LETTER SEVENTEENTH.

The Garden of Plants--The Camel Leopard--The Library, Museum, and Cabinet of Anatomy--Manufactory of Gobelin Tapestry.

PARIS, ----.

_My dear Sister:_--

I do not wonder that you are surprised at my not having yet described to you the "Royal Garden of Plants." The fact is, we have been thrice disappointed in our arrangements to go there, but at last have accomplished our project, and devoted both Tuesday and Wednesday to the investigation of this famed spot, and we have seen nothing in Paris that has interested us more. It is of great extent, and affords the visiter as much information as amusement. It was founded by Jean de Brosses, the physician of Louis XIII, and much improved by the exertions of Buffon the naturalist. It contains various enclosures, some of which are appropriated to botany, and display every plant, flower and shrub, native and foreign, that can be made to grow there. Each is labelled, and bears its botanical name; and there are spacious hot-houses for such as require shelter and extreme care. We remarked here some fine specimens of the bread tree and sugar cane. Other enclosures are filled with all sorts of culinary vegetables. There are besides, nurseries of fruit trees and samples of different kinds of fences, hedges and ditches, and of various soils and manures. The enclosures are separated by wide gravel walks,

"Bounded by trees, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made."

In the centre of the garden is an artificial hill, crowned with a temple, from which you enjoy a view of the city, and may aid your sight with a spy glass, by paying a trifle to a man who owns it and generally sits there, for the purpose of hiring it, and indicating to strangers the names of the public edifices visible in the perspective. On the way to the temple, you pass under a huge and towering cedar of Lebanon, which De Jussieu the botanist planted more than eighty years ago. This superb tree was considerably injured during the revolution; and had it not been for the remonstrances and influence of Humboldt the traveller, the whole garden would probably be now in a ruinous condition--for when the allies were in Paris, it was owing to his exertions that the Prussians were prevented encamping there.

The menagerie exhibits the greatest variety of animals. The ferocious are kept in iron cages; those that are gentle, in enclosures and habitations suitable to their propensities and natures, and embellished with such trees and shrubs as are found in their native climes. Goats for instance, are furnished with artificial acclivities for climbing, and bears with dens and rugged posts. The populace often throw biscuits and fruit to the bears, in order to witness their endeavors to catch them; but this is dangerous diversion, for in doing this, a boy was not sufficiently alert in his movements, and ere he withdrew his arm, had it severely lacerated by the eager animal. On another occasion, a careless nurse, while amusing herself in a similar manner, let a child fall in, which was instantly devoured! Among the gentlest and most curious of the quadrupeds, is the giraff, or camel leopard, which was brought from Africa about two years ago, and threw all Paris into commotion. Thousands visited him daily, and belts, reticules, gloves, kerchiefs, and even cakes and blanc mangés were decorated with his image. It is said that he possesses both sagacity and sensibility, to prove which the following anecdote is related of him. As his keepers were bringing him to Paris, they were joined by a man on horseback, who continued to bear them company for several miles, until he came to another road. The giraff, which had manifested great delight when the traveller first appeared, then evinced deep distress, and even shed tears! Upon inquiry, it was found that the traveller's horse and the giraff were from the same part of Africa, and probably old acquaintances. This is a marvellous story, I must confess; nevertheless, many persons believe it. I will now tell you another less incredible, and which shews to what perfection the flower makers here carry their art. The giraff is very fond of rose leaves; and not long since, seeing a bunch of artificial roses in a lady's bonnet, and thinking them natural, he seized hold of them, and pulled with such force, that he soon had possession of hat and all. It must have been a ludicrous scene. He is so delicate, that strict attention is obliged to be paid to his food and lodging. The first consists of _delicate_ vegetables, and the heat of the last is regulated by a thermometer; and his African attendant sleeps near to guard him and supply his wants. Leaving the quadrupeds, we proceeded to look at the birds, which are also admirably arranged. The water fowls have their pools and lakes--the ostrich its sands, and so on.

I have now detailed what we saw on Tuesday. On Wednesday we returned to the garden, and examined the Library, the Museum of Natural History, and the Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy, where, for the first time in my life, I beheld the human form, divested of its skin and flesh, and changed to a machine of dried bones and sinews, and bloodless veins! The sight made me shudder, and I felt relieved when we came away.

Not far from the Garden of Plants, at the corner of the Rue Mouffetarde, is the celebrated manufactory of Gobelin Tapestry, which derives its name from a dyer who first owned the establishment, and employed himself in coloring worsteds. Colbert, the patriotic champion of the arts and sciences, during his ministry, occasioned the rise and perfection of it in the following manner. He engaged workmen to weave tapestry in imitation of that of Flanders. The attempt succeeded, and such has been the proficiency of those who have since carried on the work, that their productions are now equal to any others of the kind. You may imagine what care and expense is required in the business, when I inform you that a single piece of tapestry frequently demands two years labor to finish it, and has cost almost three hundred pounds sterling!

The clock is striking two, and I must prepare for a ride in the Bois de Boulogne. It being a delightful afternoon, we shall no doubt find it alive with carriages, pedestrians and equestrians. Those who repair there in coaches, usually drive to a pleasant spot, and then descend to walk to and fro in the shade, for air and exercise, until the approach of the dinner hour, or some other engagement calls them elsewhere. Farewell.

LEONTINE.

* * * * *

LETTER EIGHTEENTH.

Ceremony of taking the Veil--Palace of the Warm Baths, a Roman Ruin.

PARIS, ----.

Oh! Jane, how we wished for you yesterday! Early in the morning we received a note from Madame F---- saying, that if the ladies of our party would like to witness the ceremony of "taking the veil," and would repair to her house by nine o'clock, she would accompany them to a neighboring convent where it was to be performed about the hour of ten. The Abbess being her friend and cousin, she had obtained her consent to our attending on the occasion in case we wished it. We _wished_ it, you may be sure, and her kindness was eagerly and thankfully accepted. On reaching the convent its portal was opened by two of the sisterhood, who greeted Madame F---- very cordially, made their curtsies to us, and then conducted us to the gallery of a small chapel, the main body of which was filled with nuns clad in black, and seated on rows of benches each side of the aisle. In the centre of it, upon a damask chair, sat a young lady richly dressed. She wore a yellow silk frock trimmed with lace, white satin shoes, long white kid gloves, and ornaments of pearl. A wreath of orange blossoms mingled and contrasted with her dark hair, and were partly concealed by a flowing veil. Madame F---- related her history, and to our surprise we learned she was an English girl who had been placed in the convent at an early age to be educated. As might have been expected, associating so constantly and closely with Catholics from childhood, she became one herself; and when her parents came over to France for the purpose of carrying her home, they found her resolved on becoming a nun. Having tried in vain to dissuade her from it, they at length yielded to her entreaties, and were even present when she took the vows; and as they did not appear distressed on the occasion, I suppose they had finally become reconciled to their bereavement. I wonder they did not _compel_ her to relinquish her determination. But to proceed to the ceremony. Long prayers were said, incense scattered, and a fine hymn chanted--the novice kneeling down before a table covered with a crimson cloth, and reclining her head upon it, in humble submission to that Divine Power to whom she was dedicating her heart and days! When the music ceased the Abbess advanced, and taking her hand, led her out through a side door; and while they were absent, a nun distributed among the sisterhood a number of large wax candles, which she afterwards illumined. The Abbess now re-entered with her charge, and prayers and incense were again offered, a second hymn sung, and the novice had her hair, or a portion of it, cut off; she then prostrated herself before the altar, and a black pall was cast over her, to signify she was dead to the world. On rising, she retired a second time with the Superior, and in a few minutes re-appeared, clad in the habiliments of the cloister, and went round the chapel to receive the kiss of congratulation and welcome from each of the community; after which the lights were extinguished, and every one departed, leaving her to solitude, meditation and prayer, until the vesper bell should tell the hour for rejoining her. How awful I felt while a spectator of the solemn scene; and how strange, is it not? that reflecting beings who know the fickleness of human nature--that "nature's mighty law is change," can venture thus to bind themselves for life to stay in one limited space, and pursue one unvaried mode of existence! I hope and think I love religion truly; but I am sure if I were a _saint_ upon earth, I should never hide my light in a monastery. I ought to mention, that except the father and brothers of the new nun, no gentlemen were admitted to the ceremony; and I ought also to state that she was very pretty. Leonora says that notwithstanding the scene and place, she was constantly imagining the interference of some brave youth, to save the fair creature from her fate, by rushing in and bearing her off by force; but alas! the age of chivalry is long past, and now-a-days a _hero_ in _love_ would be thought a prodigy and hard to find, unless perhaps, he was sought for is a certain old fashioned fabric in the vicinity of Morven Lodge. _There_, peradventure, such an _odd personage might be discovered_.

From the convent we drove to what is called the "Palace of the Warm Baths." This is a relic of Roman antiquity. In it, the Roman emperors, and after their dominion ceased in France, the French monarchs, used to reside. Its foundation is attributed to Julian the Apostate. The sole remaining apartments consist of an extensive and lofty hall, and some cells beneath it. The hall is lighted by an immense arched window, and its vaulted roof for several ages supported a garden. By this we may judge how firmly and strongly the Romans used to build. I cannot, for lack of space, express to you the kind messages with which I am charged. Suffice it to know, we all love you dearly.

LEONTINE.

* * * * *

LETTER NINETEENTH.

Visit to Versailles--The Little Trianon--The Grand Trianon--Church of St. Louis, and Monument of the Duke de Berri--Mendon--Chalk Quarries--Tortoni's--Wandering Musicians--An Evening at Count Ségur's--Children's Fancy Ball.

PARIS, ----.

_My dear Sister:_--

I have really a great mind to give you a _scolding_, instead of a _description_, for your perusal. What are you all about at the Lodge, that you have not written to us for this fortnight. Papa and Mamma are quite out of patience with you, and desire me to request you will answer this the moment it reaches you. Indeed I hope you _will_, for they are evidently uneasy in consequence of your long silence.

Now let me tell you of our visit to Versailles. We spent Friday there, and carrying with us a cold dinner, partook of it under the trees near the Petit Trianon, having gained a keen appetite by first walking over the immense palace and its garden; of the splendors of both you are well aware. We were not much pleased with our rustic mode of eating on the grass, the premises of the table cloth being frequently invaded by insects. Like dancing on the turf, such arrangements are pleasanter in description than in reality. The Petit Trianon was the favorite residence of Marie Antoinette, and there she passed a great deal of her time, free from the bustle and formality of the court, and devoted to rural occupations. The place still exhibits evidences of her taste and innocent amusements. The grounds are diversified with grottos, cottages, temples, mimic rivers and cascades. Then there is a beautiful little music room, a labyrinth, a dairy, and a lake. The palace is a tasteful edifice, and a part of the furniture is the same that was used by the decapitated queen.

The Grand Trianon, another palace situated in the park of Versailles, is superior to this in elegance and embellishments, but not half so interesting. The parterre behind the mansion, teems with Flora's choicest gifts, and reminded me of the saying, that "Versailles was the garden of waters; Marly the garden of trees; but Trianon that of flowers." In the orangery at Versailles we were shown an orange tree which is computed to be three hundred years old! It is denominated "The Old Bourbon," and has been the property of several kings of that race. Its trunk and foliage are remarkably thick. The garden and park are five miles in circumference; and only think of these and the magnificent structure overlooking them, being completed in seven years! But perhaps did we know the number of workmen employed upon them during that period, the fact would not seem so amazing.

We rode through the wide streets of the town, visited the Church of St. Louis, where a simple monument is erected in honor of the Duke de Berri, and then turned our course homewards, stopping for an hour at Mendon, a royal chateau that Napoleon fitted up elegantly for his son; it is now unoccupied, though I believe the Duke de C---- sometimes spends a few weeks there. A noble avenue leads to the house, and from the terrace in front of it the prospect is very fine. As we traversed the grounds, guided by an old soldier, we were quite diverted at the astonishment he expressed, on discovering from an observation of Leonora's that she and her family were Americans. "Mais comme vous êtes blondes!" cried he, "et j'ai toujours en tendu dire que les habitans d'Amerique étaient rouges ou noirs!"[1]

[Footnote 1: But how fair you are! and I have always heard that the inhabitants of America are _red_ or _black_.]

At the foot of the hill of Mendon, near the banks of the Seine, are large quarries of chalk, that we were told merited our attention; but it was too late to profit by the information, and we hastened on to Paris.

After resting ourselves and drinking tea, we sallied forth again, and strolled on the Boulevard as far as Tortoni's, to eat ices. He is master of a grand caffé, and famous for his ices and déjeunés à la fourchette. His establishment is splendidly illuminated every night, and so thronged with customers, that it is often difficult to procure a seat. Some prefer regaling themselves before the door in their carriages; and there is generally a range of stylish equipages in front of the house, filled with lords and ladies, and beaux and belles, partaking of the cooling luxuries of iced lemonade and creams, and listening to the bands of ambulatory musicians, that here are always to be found and heard, wherever there is a crowd. They select the popular airs of the theatres and those of the first composers of the day, which are as familiar to the common people as they are to amateurs.

We recently spent another delightful evening at Count Ségur's. We found him, as usual, surrounded by the learned and refined; and he met us with his accustomed smile of benevolence and bonhomie. There was a lively young relative of his present, and when most of his visiters had departed, she insisted on his joining her and myself in playing "l'Empereur est Mort," &c., and with the utmost amiability he complied with her wishes. The play of l'Empereur is similar to that termed the "Princess Huncamunca."

While we were at the Count's, Mr. and Mrs. Danville attended a levee at the Hotel Marine, and the girls accompanied a young friend of Marcella's, (a Miss Y---- from Soissons) to a fancy ball given by the children of Madame Clément's seminary. Miss Y---- being a pupil, had the privilege of inviting two acquaintances, and chose Marcella and Leonora as her guests. They were highly entertained. All the scholars wore costumes, and several supported the characters they assumed with proper spirit. There was a little round, rosy faced girl, of five years old, decked as a Cupid. She was entwined with a silken drapery, thickly studded with golden stars; sandals laced on her feet, and a quiver slung over her plump and naked little shoulders! In her right hand she held a gilt bow, and her curls were confined by a glittering bandeau. They danced until ten o'clock, and as none of the masculine gender were admitted, the elder Misses played the part of beaux. I should have liked to join in the frolic, I confess, though not upon condition of foregoing the pleasure we had at No. 13, Rue Duphot, Count Ségur's residence.

Papa has presented me a beautiful watch, and intends purchasing another for you. With tender regards to aunt M---- and Albert, I remain your attached sister

LEONTINE.

* * * * *

LETTER TWENTIETH.

Mechanical Theatre--The Boulevards--the derivation of the term.

PARIS, ----.

"Joy! joy!" cried I, on looking out of the window yesterday, and spying Arnaud returning from the post office with a letter, which, according to our wishes, proved to be from our naughty Jane. Arrant scribbler that I am, I hasten to answer it, though you must feel you do not deserve to be replied to so speedily. However, as this is the first time you have been negligent, we ought not to be relentless--so here is my _hand_ in token of forgiveness and good will; but beware of repeating the offence.

Having finished my lecture, and knowing you are fond of listening to adventures, I will now recount a droll one that happened to us last evening. At sunset we were walking on the Boulevard du Temple, which abounds in every variety of the lower order of amusements, when suddenly a violent shower began to fall, and of course every body to scamper to some shelter. _We_ took refuge in the portico of an illuminated building, entitled in large transparent letters over the door, "Theàtre Mecanique," and finally determined to enter and witness the acting within. We accordingly purchased tickets of the woman employed to sell them, and following her up a narrow flight of stairs, were ushered into a confined gallery, overlooking a dirty pit, the highest grade of whose occupants seemed to be that of a cobbler. Four tallow candles lighted the orchestra, where _two hard_ plying fiddlers performed their tasks. We began to think we might be in "Alsatia!" and then the actors and actresses! what were they? Why, a set of clumsy wooden figures that tottered in and out, and were suspended by cords so coarse, as to be visible even amidst the gloom that surrounded them. A ventriloquist made these puppets appear very loquacious; and whenever they stopped to make a speech it was quite ludicrous, for they vacillated to and fro like the pendulum of a clock, for more than a minute. We would have rejoiced to get out, but the rain still poured, and we were compelled to remain. After the piece was concluded, and the fiddlers had put up their instruments, and were puffing out and pocketing the bits of candles, and we were reluctantly preparing to issue forth into the storm, up came the above mentioned vender of billets, (who it seems was manager likewise,) and calling to the musicians to resume their operations, begged us to be re-seated, in order to see the first act repeated, which we had lost by arriving too late. We availed ourselves of her politeness and _honesty_, but could scarcely refrain from laughing as we did so--and fortunately, during the half hour that succeeded, the weather cleared, and we were thus enabled to get home without the dreaded wetting; but the Boulevards not being paved, the walking was exceedingly muddy, and it was so long ere we reached a stand of carriages, that when we did, we thought it more prudent to continue our route on foot, than to risk sitting in our wet shoes.

As you may not know what is meant by the "_Boulevards_," I will tell you. They are wide roads, or streets, edged with spreading umbrageous elms, and formerly _bounded_ the city, but now, from its increase in size, they are _within_ it. Their appellation of "Boulevards" is derived from "bouler sur le vert," to "bowl upon the green"--being once covered with turf, and the frequent scene of playing at bowls. Here, nightly, the citizens forget the cares and labors of the day, and resign themselves to pleasure and mirth. Rows of chairs, owned and placed there by poor persons, may be hired for two sous a piece. Adieu.

LEONTINE.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

BURNING OF THE RICHMOND THEATRE.

The following lines are from the pen of a venerable lady of Virginia, widow of one of the patriots of the revolution. They were written in 1812, shortly after the conflagration, and are now for the first time published.

What is this world? thy school, oh misery!
Our only lesson is to learn to suffer,
And they who know not _that_ were born for nothing.
[_Young's Night Thoughts_.

Whence the wild wail of agonizing woe
That heaves each breast, and bids each eye o'erflow?
Ah, me! amid the all involving gloom
That wrapt the victims of terrific doom,
While _palsied fancy_ casts an anguish'd glance,
What _phrenzied_ spectres to my view advance!
Appalled nature shrinks--my harrowed soul
Dares not the direful scene of death unrol;
Yet o'er the friends she loved the muse would mourn,
And weep for others' sorrows and her own;
To their sad obsequies would _grateful_ pay
The heartfelt tribute of a mourning lay.
And lo! through the dark horrors of the night,
What form revered now rushes on my sight!
Ye blasting flames, oh spare the cheek of age!
Ah, heaven! they with redoubled fury rage!
Yet undismay'd she view'd the fiery flood,
Resign'd amid the desolation stood--
To God alone address'd her feeble cry,
Oh! save my child, and willingly I die!
Approving heaven propitious heard her prayer,
To bliss receiv'd her, and preserv'd her care.
Oh, long lov'd friend! oh, much lamented Page!
How did thy goodness every heart engage--
How oft for _me_ thy generous tears have flow'd,
What kind attention still thy love bestow'd;
When sickness mourn'd or sorrow heav'd a sigh,
Thy useful aid benignant still was nigh;
The best of neighbors, and the truest friend,
O'er thy sad urn disconsolate we bend.
Heardst thou that shriek? the accent of despair!
The mother's deep felt agony was there:
My only hope, Louisa, art thou gone?
Is thy pure spirit to thy Maker flown?
Oh! take me too! the mourner frantic cries,
When such friends part _'tis the survivor_ dies!
She was my all--so gentle, good, and kind;
Then she is blest, and be thy heart resign'd!
And see, of sympathy, alas! the theme,
In woes experience'd, and in griefs supreme!
Yon aged matron now to view appears,
One thought alone her anguish'd bosom cheers;
For while on vacancy she bends her eye,
She sees her children angels in the sky!
Juliana! Edwin! beauteous Mary too!
To yon bright realm from earthly suffering flew;
Well tried in fortune's ever changing scene,
A mourner now with calm resigned mien,
Who bears a name to every patriot dear,
Nelson! who long Virginia shall revere,
Ah, see! submissive to the direful stroke,
No murmurs from her pallid lips have broke;
Though lov'd Maria, long her age's stay,
Whose duteous care watch'd o'er her setting day,
The awful mandate bade, alas, depart!
"Lean not on earth--'twill pierce thee to the heart;"
Yet must our sorrows stain the mournful bier,
When virtue lost demand the flowing tear!
And youthful Mary shares Maria's fate,
Her gentle cousin and endearing mate;
For hand in hand they mount the ethereal way,
To brighter regions and unclouded day.
Great God! whose fiat gives the general doom,
Speaks into life, or lays within the tomb,
Oh! teach our hearts submissive to resign;
Thy will be done--be much obedience mine.
And lo! advancing from the deepest shade,
A generous youth sustains a sainted maid;
Down his pale cheeks the gushing tears o'erflow,
And fancy's ear attends the plaint of woe.
Oh, much lov'd Conyers! lov'd so long in vain,
Could but my death thy fleeting soul retain,
Far happier I, than doom'd, alas! to prove
The bitter pangs of unrequited love;
My constant heart disdains on earth to stay,
While thou art borne to native realms away--
Nor at my hapless fate can I repine,
Since bless'd in death to call thee ever mine!
Oh, gallant youth! Oh, all accomplish'd maid!
At your sad shrine shall votive rites be paid;
There oft at eve shall pensive lovers stray,
And future Petrarchs pour the plaintive lay;
For, ah! behold a faithful wedded pair,
Blest _too_ in death, an equal fate to share!
In their sad breasts no _selfish_ fears arise,
_Each_ for the other _feels_--_each_ in the _other dies!_
Yon man of woes, oh! mark his furrowed cheek;
What deep-drawn sighs his misery bespeak:
'Tis Gallego! Each bosom comfort flown,
In the dark vale of years he walks alone.
And now amid the victim train appears
A friend of worth, approv'd through twenty years;
Just, wise, and good, true to his country's cause,
He from opposing parties gain'd applause:
From life and usefulness forever torn,
Virginia long for Venable shall mourn;
And for her chief, lamented Smith, shall share
His orphan's grief, his wretched widow's care.
Nutall--a man obscure, of humble name,
Virtuous, industrious, tho' unknown to fame,
Escap'd in safety--heard his wife's sad cries!
"Safe tho' we are, alas! my daughter dies!"
He heard, nor paus'd, but dar'd again the fire,
Resolv'd to save or in the attempt expire;
Oh! noble daring--worthy to succeed--
But Heaven forbade, yet bless'd the generous deed:
The daughter lives--the father's toils are o'er--
Where sorrow, pain and want, can wound no more;
In the bright glow of youthful beauties bloom,
Ill-fated Anna sinks beneath the gloom:
Her lovely orphan--yet too young to know
Her cruel loss or the extent of woe--
In deepest grief while all around her mourn,
Still piteous cries, "When will Mamma return!"
What tender cries, what anguish'd moans prevail,
How many orphans join the plaintive wail!
For Gibson, Heron, Greenhow, Gerardin,
And Wilson, borne from the heart-rending scene!
While frantic husbands, mothers, widows rave,
O'er the _vast urn_ the _all-containing grave!_
But ah! my muse the death-fraught theme forbear,
Nor longer tread the abyss of wild despair;
I sink with life's distracting cares oppress'd,
And fain with those would share eternal rest;
Yet impious, let me not presume to scan--
Great God--thy ways mysterious all to man!
But while for mercy humbly I implore,
"Rejoice with trembling," and resign'd adore.

M. L. P.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

I'll neither call thee beautiful
Nor say that thou art fair;
I will not praise thy witching eye,
Nor compliment thy hair;
I'll speak not of the roses sweet,
That blush upon thy cheek,
Nor of the tresses richly hung
About thy snowy neck.

For thou wouldst deem it flattery,
Altho' it would not be,
And flattery would never do
To win a smile from thee;
And surely I would proudly win,
Without the help of guile,
A look that would be mellowed
By the magic of thy smile.

JACK TELL.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

GIRL OF BEAUTY.

Girl of Beauty! can you tell,
Gazing in the crystal well,
Who it is that madly dreams
Of thine eye's bewildering beams?

Girl of Beauty! is the bird,
In the spring, with pleasure heard,
When the melody of song
Leaps the listening boughs among?
If the birds delight the grove,
Can I hear thee, and not love?

Girl of Beauty! does the Bee
Love the rose's purity?
Does the Miser love his dross?
Does the Christian love his cross?
Then _I love thee_, gentle girl,
Dearer than the crown of earl.

Girl of Beauty! does the sky
Seem all beauteous to thine eye,
When the stars with silver rays
Brightly beam before thy gaze?
Thou art dearer far to me,
Than the stars _can be_ to thee.

Girl of Beauty! does the tar
Love to dream of scenes afar,
When the mildly sighing gale
Fills the proudly swelling sail?
Then I love to dream of thee,
And thy sweet simplicity.

Girl of Beauty! does the boy
Kiss his sister's cheek with joy
When they meet in after years,
Having parted once in tears?
May you kiss your brother soon--
Ere the rounding of the moon.

JACK TELL.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE RECLAIMED.

It was a bright and beautiful summer evening. All nature seemed to speak the language of peace and joy; the birds warbled in the groves, the gentle breezes sported among the lofty trees, and all objects wore the soothing aspect of that benevolent spirit who had spread them before the eye of man. While indulging the pleasing sensations which scenes like this never fail to inspire, my attention was directed to an elegant mansion situated on the opposite hill, and my companion asked whether I had ever heard the history of its present inmates. To my reply in the negative, he remarked, that being personally acquainted with the family, and knowing their history, he would relate it, aware of the deep interest I felt in every thing which bore any relation to the subject, to which the narrative will afford a sufficient clue.

In the summer of 1824, Mrs. Loraine removed to this neighborhood with two children, a son and a daughter; the former twelve, the latter ten years of age. Her husband alike distinguished for talents and humanity in his medical profession as well as social relations, had died during the previous autumn in New Orleans, where he had removed shortly after his marriage with Miss Allen, who was adorned with the virtues and graces which are requisite to make the amiable wife, the prudent mother, and valuable friend. Deeply affected at the loss of a husband tenderly and deservedly beloved, and being herself a native of Virginia, and having relations in this county she resolved to remove to her native spot; preferring the retirement of the country to the gaieties of a city, not only on her own account, but also on that of her children. A young lady who had been for several years the instructress of her two children, agreed to accompany her and continue their education till such time as it might seem advisable to employ more extended means of instruction for one or both. In Miss Medway were happily blended a strong and energetic mind, a correct judgment and taste, affectionate heart, polished manners, and an education liberal and elegant. Born to high expectations, reared in the lap of wealth and indulgence, _loving_ and _beloved_, a cruel tide of misfortune deprived her of all, and threw her at the age of nineteen, poor and dependant, on a cold and unfeeling world. But why descend to particulars which intercept the thread of our narrative? Of her much remains to be told, which you yet will hear, but for the present let it suffice to say, that in this state of sorrow Dr. Loraine became her friend and bountiful benefactor. At this retired and beautiful spot, the minds of William and Lavinia were not only expanded by the faithful care of their mother and tutoress in literature, but in the richer and far more valuable lessons of virtue, which were daily enforced by precept and example. Six years rolled round, and found little change in the domestic circle. William was now eighteen, and his mother determined to enter him the ensuing session at the college of ----, in order to prepare him for the study of that profession in which his father had excelled, and for which he seemed peculiarly adapted by the tender benevolence of his heart, and the discriminating powers of his mind. In William Loraine were strangely blended the softness and gentleness of woman, with the noble firmness and independence of man. Beloved by all who knew him, and reared up in the precincts of his mother's influence, it was not unreasonable to believe that he had grown sufficiently strong in the theory and practice of virtue, to stand uncontaminated, among the vices and follies of a collegiate life. But alas! how often is the morning which dawned in cloudless beauty soon succeeded by storm and tempest; and the bud which promised beauty and fragrance, withered ere it expands to maturity: and how often, thus linger on the bright visions of fancy and hope, while before us lie the sad realities of life.

With many tears, and tender caresses, and regrets, William left his peaceful happy home, to mix with strangers in a distant state. Deeply did he feel the trial, and while his mother's tender and ardent benediction and admonitions sounded in his ear, the tear of love and promised obedience trickled down his manly cheek. Soon after his introduction to the beings with whom he was to associate, he resolved to watch for awhile the conduct of all the students, and choose for his friend that youth whose feelings and conduct most nearly accorded with his own views and intentions. Nor did he wait long ere he found an object to love and confide in. There is in the heart of all a desire for friendship which nothing can satisfy but the belief that it is possessed. Various are the properties which may lead to a selection of the object in different minds, but congeniality in some respects is almost indispensable to the formation of friendship. James Drayton, of South Carolina, seemed to the confiding heart of William, the very being he had sought. In James Drayton was presented a union of the most opposite traits of character, yet so blended as to almost add effect and interest to each other. Singularly handsome, of polished and elegant manners--of a gay disposition, but a deeply reserved and shrewd mind--generous to a fault, and possessing every facility for the gratification of every wish--ardent but injudicious in attachments, and above all of a memory which required no exertion to make a conspicuous figure in his studies, he was at once beloved, envied, flattered, and caressed. In such a being the innocent heart of William confided, and to imitate him and gain his affection, constituted his great delight. Nor were his affections unreturned. Drayton loved him with a passion at once impetuous and sincere. Pleasures were but half enjoyed when William Loraine was not a participant, while his presence rendered pleasant scenes otherwise unpleasing. Twelve months rolled round and found their hearts fondly united, not only by scenes of profitable research and benevolent acts, but also by the baneful yet fascinating pleasures of wildness and dissipation. The regular examination which as usual concluded the collegiate year, was to them a time of real and almost unalloyed pleasure. Distinguished in their various studies, and improved by their teachers for moral deportment and dutiful demeanor, generally beloved by their companions, few youths seemed to enjoy a more enviable lot. It was determined that James should accompany William to Virginia, to spend the vacation at Roseville, with his friends and relations. Accordingly the day after the close of their examination, they took seats in the stage, and in about eight days arrived at the lovely spot. In silence we pass the meeting scene, and all the usual events which mark such periods, the welcome given the friend of their William, and the joy felt by all who knew the amiable inmates, at again seeing him among his friends. Time had dealt bountifully with Lavinia, and to the eye of her brother, every day had added to her charms, since they parted.

James saw her with admiration and delight. True she was young, being little over sixteen, but to the playful innocence of the child, was added the grace and dignity of manners, befitting the woman. She was not strictly beautiful, yet a spell seemed thrown around her, that insensibly drew the hearts of all who lingered in her presence. Tall and elegantly formed, her dark brown hair hung in natural ringlets on her white neck, the rose and lily mingled their choicest tints on her cheek, while her full dark eye spoke the strong and polished mind, the soft and innocent heart that illuminated it. Her features were not what the connoisseur would term unexceptionable, while the less critical observer would almost declare them perfect. Such was the _person_ of Lavinia: but who can paint the endowments of her heart and mind? the casket was indeed pleasingly garnished, but the jewel within was of transcendent brightness. To the enthusiastic mind of Drayton, she was a being of unearthly mould; and while he almost gave to her his adoration, it was blended with a serious awe. In Lavinia Loraine he beheld a christian, and while he loved the woman he feared to approach what he deemed the saint. We have said Drayton was wild and dissipated: but it was not that grosser kind of dissipation which is visible and disliked by all. He loved the social card table and glass--the night spent in folly and mirth--but morning found him in the path of the gentleman, pure in honor, and unstained in truth.

William too loved the pleasures of his friend, and though he dipped deep in the gilded pool that allured him to its banks, he found it bitterness in the end. His mother's tender admonitions sounded in his ears--his sister's kind counsels, and the earnest appeals of his beloved friend Miss Medway, turned every cup to gall. Yet still he went on, and vainly hoped to find a solace in the thought, that to them he was a moral and religious youth. Two months flew on rapid wing, and the two young men were again to return to the college.