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nature. Hair is not always necessary to the head, | me to this dreadful alternative," said the old man for it often falls off as we grow old, but it never after he had been sworn. « My poor son has been drops from the chin. I appeal to this honorable afflicted with his disorder for two years. We have court-"

tried all gentle means to cure him, but he grows " Silence !” cried the honorable court, who at that worse and worse. The proofs of his madness are so moment woke up.

glaring that he cannot be kept from the mad-house. “ Justice never sleeps, excepting on the bench,” He is now in his twenty-fifth year; he has had a good observed the youth, in a low voice.

education, the best that money could procure; he has Go on,” said the honorable court, whose busi- made the tour of Europe ; he has had all the advanness, when out of court, was horse dealing, which tages which my extensive business connections could fitted him in an eminent degree for the responsibili- give him, and yet, gentlemen, regardless of my ties of his office.

wishes, and his own welfare, he has married a poor “ I appeal to this honorable court,” continued the young woman, and gone to bury his splendid acinsane yonth, “ I appeal to you, gentlemen of the complishments on a farm. Is it not dreadful, gentle. jury, and I would, if I were permitted, appeal to men, to witness such a sacrifice ? I offered him a these fair ladies (there were several old gossips in share in my business, I proposed to establish him the room) to say whether I am not more sane than in a splendid distillery, but such was the poor creamy father.”

ture's derangement of intellect that even this bril. "I can't allow such audacious remarks as those in liant offer conld not draw him from the obscurity of this place,” said the honorable court, rising and the country. Look at his dress, gentlemen; if the wiping its honorable face with a dingy handkerchief. court please, is not that prima facie evidence of his • This thing mus'n't proceed no further. I don't insanity ?": know, gentlemen of the jury, as I have ever been The court thought it was, but would not give a more seriously affected in my life, than I have been decided opinion without first looking into somebody's by this melancholy trial.”

reports. « Probably not,” said the maniac.

“Look at him, gentlemen, would anybody believe « The court will allow no interruption from no that he was the son of a rich merchant ? That disone,” said the honorable court, fixing its dreadfully graceful blouse, like a common laborer's. That stern eyes on the madman, and stretching out its coarse straw hat ! 0, gentlemen, pardon a father's stumpy fore-finger in a threatening manner. - My weakness! I can say no more. heart has been melted by the scene we have wit The mother of the insane man appeared next, but nessed.”

her distress was too great to admit of her giving · A very little heat will melt ice," said the mad her evidence in a straight forward manner. youth.

She believed her son to be crazy.

Had first sus. · My feelings is too much for me to proceed,” con- pected it on his return from Paris, on account of his tinued the honorable court, I resign the case into plain clothes; he had left off coffee and tea, and your hands, gentlemen of the jury, only remarking drank nothing but cold water ; he talked strangely that the young man is mad, and so you must give in about the country ; quite unlike her other children, your “ werdick."

who were fond of style, and lived respectably; insan. The poor youth was immediately put into a strait. ity not peculiar to the family; was not influenced by jacket and dragged away, yet he still seemed to her husband; had seen her son laugh with the coachstand at the bar, but his appearance was changed. man; had opposed his marriage; thought it a decidHe wore a broad-brimmed hat made of oaten straw, ed proof of insanity to marry out of one's own cira linen blouse which reached below his knees, and a cle; had been the first to propose sending her son to shirt of snowy whiteness open at the throat, so that the insane retreat. his manly neck was fully exposed. His complexion After the witnesses delivered their testimony, the was brown, bis eye clear and bright, his laughing court told the maniac that he might address the jury. mouth displayed teeth of a pearly lustre, and he ap " I have nothing to say in regard to the testimopeared to receive great pleasure in snuffing the fra ny,” said the youth - but that it is all true. I pregrance of a bunch of field flowers which he held in fer the sweets of a country life to the bitter toils of his hand. I thought, as I looked at him, that I had business. I have a wife whom I love; she brought never seen a youth who bore so many marks of un me no fortune, it is true, but she helps me daily to equivocal soundness of mind and body. But he was

I have a little farm which yields more mad, notwithstanding all. His own father was the than I need; I have good health, a quiet conscience, first witness examined. Poor old man! he could and two lovely children whose minds and bodies I hardly articulate the words which a sense of duty to am striving to rear in conformity with the dictates his child compelled him to utter.

of nature. For these I prefer a moderate fortune in “ Nothing but a hope that judicious medical treat the country to an immoderate one in the city. Bement may restore my son to his senses, could induce I sides I look upon the judgment pronounced upon

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Adam in the light of a command, and I was never happy until the sweat of my own brow seasoned my daily food.”

The jury pronounced him mad without leaving their seats.

A righteons werdick!” said the honorable court. He was led from the court-room, and yet he still stood there, such are the inconsistencies of dreams.

He was now dressed in rusty clothes ; his countenance was subdued by thought; he was unhappy but not uneasy; his eyes were cast down, his lips were more closely pressed together, and the vigorous look of youth was changed for a gravity of demeanor that sat upon him well, though it seemed too grave for his years.

There was literally a cloud of witnesses to his insanity. He had been heard to pity a condemned selon; he had said irreverent things of the law; he had spoken against the clergy; he had abused physic; he had given his money to vagabonds; he laughed at the fashions; he had cried at a wedding; he was opposed to war; he had been struck without returning the blow; he had pitied a slaveholder: he had — But the jury would lear no more. They pronounced him mad with one voice. All Bedlam seemed now broken loose. No sooner was one maniac pronounced upon than another occu. pied the stand. The obscure little court-room began to look like the ante-room of the revolutionary tribunal. To expedite business a whole lot of inaniacs were put up together and judged in a lump.

One was a young girl of eighteen who had married ber father's poor clerk whom she loved, when she might have married her father's rich partner whose money her friends loved; a Wall-street broker who had refused usury on a note; a grocer who had recommended a customer not to buy his sugar be. cause he could buy cheaper elsewhere; a man who corrected a post office error when his letter had been undercharged; a political orator who had refused an office because he did not think himself entitled to one; a lawyer who refused to advocate the cause of a rogue on the pretence of conscientious scruples; a critic who doubted his own infallibility; a lieutenant of marines who gave up his commission and earned his bread by his own labor; an editor of a newspaper who had never called names; an English traveller without national prejudices; a midshipman who never damned the service; an artist who painted from nature; an author who was satisfied with a review of his book; a young lady who was offended at being told that she was pretty; a poet who considered himself inferior to Shakspeare. These were all pronounce mad. But the noise of their removal woke me, and finding that the other jurors had gone over to the one who was for rendering a vedict of not insane, I too, instructed by my dream, concluded to coincide with them, lest I should establish a precedent by which I might at some future day be pronounced mad myself.

There the soft breezes come,
Making the leaflets hum

Low as they pass ; And their light pinions play, All through the summer's dayMoving the waters gay

And the long grass.


Where the still runnel flows, There the white lily blows,

Modest and pure. Seen through the foliage dim, On the tall maple limb, Pours the glad bird a hymn

To her fond wover.


Down on the grassy

brink or the clear rill, to drink,

Stoops the tired mowerBlessing the God who gave Man the translucent wave, From its deep hidden cave,

Ever to pour.


See the bright waters curl,
As the gay reaper's girl

Kneels at their side,
And the pure crystal sips-
Bathing her rosy lips-
While the pressed herbage dips

In the cool tide.

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Dark is the night! How dark! No light! No fire! Who now shall plead thy grievous wrongs, poor Cold on the hearth, the last saint sparks expire ;

slave ? Shivering she watches by the cradle side

Scourged darkling! who, with melting eloquence, For him who pledged her lore-last year a bride ! Win for thee tears, and prayers, and hoarded pence,

Now they have borne thy Channing to the grave ? Hark! 'Tis his footsteep! No!-'Tis past !—'Tis

Channing, who plead for thee so gently brave,

Till our warmed hearts lost all their cold defense, Tick!, Tick!- How wearily the time crawls on! Why should he leave me thus ? – He once was kind: And selfish thoughts, we vainly urged for sense, And I, believed twould last !-How mad !-How Charmed submission to his pleadings gave.

Weep for him, all who wear the oppressor's chain ! blind!

Whether in Europe's loathsome cells confined, Rest thee, my babe !– Rest on!-'Tis hunger's cry! Where brutish pastors rule the unconscious mind, Sleep!—for there is no food ;— The font is dry ! Or torn from your wild homes across the main, Famine and cold their wearying work have done ! Or unpaid laboring for your fellow kind : My heart must break !— And thou !—The clock, For you his voice will ne'er be heard again. strikes one.

Stilled is that voice, whose dying utterance spoke · Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes!- he's there, he's Great truths in gentle strains, that ne'er shall cease there!

To echo from men's hearts with wide increase, For this !—for this he leaves me to despair !

Till the last link of slavery shall be broke, Leaves love ! leaves truth! his wife! his child! for And man no longer wears his fellow's yoke, what ?

While the oppressor res

in swinish ease, The wanton's smile—the villain, and the sot!

And recreant rulers court ignoble peace; Yet I'll not curse him. No! 'tis all in vain ! Or hirelings, covered with religion's cloak, 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again!

Palsy the ear with words in cloister caught; And I could starve and bless him but for you,

Dull, bookish words, to God nor man allied ; My child !-his child ! Oh! fiend!' The clock strikes Lifeless abortions borne of priestly pride, two.

Which mouthed for centuries still come to nought; · Hark! How the sign-board creaks! The blast who first to man tidings of Freedom brought.

Falsely proclaimed of Him, the crucified, howls by! Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy

sky! Ha! otis his knock ! He comes !-he comes once

UNSEEN SPIRITS. more ! 'Tis but the lattice flaps! The hope is o'er! . Can he desert us thus ? He knows I stay

The shadows lay along BroadwayNight after night in loneliness to pray

'Twas near the twilight-tideFor his return-and yet he sees no tear!

And slowly there a lady fair No! no! It cannot be! He will be here !

Was walking in her pride;

Alone walked she; but, viewlessly, Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart;

Walked spirits at her side. Thou’rt cold! Thou’rt freezing ! But we will not part!

Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, Husband !-I lie !-Father !—It is not he!

And Honor charmed the air ; Oh, God, protect my child !' The clock strikes

And all astir looked kind on her, three !

And called her good as fair

For all God ever gave to her
They're gone, they're gone! The glimmering spark

She kept with chary care.
hath fed !
The wife and child are number'd with the dead. She kept with care, her beauties rare
On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest,

From lovers warm and true-
The babe lay frozen on its mother's breast :

For her heart was cold, to all but gold, The gambler came at last, but all was o'er

And the rich came not to wooDread silence reign'd around—the clock struck But honored well are charms to sell four!

If priests the selling do.


Now walking there was one more fair

A light girl, lily-pale ;
And she had unseen company

To make the spirit quail 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn,

And nothing could avail.
No mercy now can clear her brow
For this world's

peace to pray ; For as love's wild prayer dissolved in air,

Her woman's heart gave way! But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven

By man is curst alway!

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

There stands a spectre in your hall : The guilt of blood is at your door.

You changed a wholesome heart to gall. You held your course without remorse,

To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fixed a vacant stare,

And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,

From yon blue heavens above us bent, The gardner Adam and his wife

Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me,

'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere;

You pine among your halls and towers; The languid light of your proud eyes

Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth,

But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with Time,

You needs must play such pranks as these.



Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,

If Time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate,

Nor any poor about your lands? Oh! teach the orphan boy to read,

Or teach the orphan girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart,

And let the foolish yeoman go.


Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Of me you shall not win renown; You thought to break a country heart

For pastime, ere you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled

I saw the snare, and I retired : The danghter of a hundred Earls—

You are not one to be desired. Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

I know you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine,

Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake

A heart that doats on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower

Is worth a hundred coat-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is,

I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love,

And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates

Is not more cold to you than I. Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown

Since I beheld young Laurence dead. Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies :

A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat

Which you had hardly cared to see. Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind,

She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word

That searce is fit for you to hear. Her manners had not that repose

Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

BY FRANCIS BACON, LORD VERULAM. It was an high speech of Seneca, after the manner of the StoicsThat the good things which belong to Prosperity are to be wished, but the good things that belong to Adversity are to be admired. Bona rerum secundarum optabilia, Adversarum mi. rabilia. Certainly if miracles be the command over nature, they appear most in adversity. It is yet a higher speech of his than the other—much too high for a heathen-It is true greatness to have in one the frailty of a man, and the security of a God. Veré magnum habere fragilitatem hominis, securitatem Dei. This would have done better in poesie, where transcendences are more allowed. And the Poets indeed have been busy with it; for it is in effect the thing which is figured in that strange fiction of the ancient poets, which seemeth not without mystery-nay, and to have some approach to the state of a christian—That Hercules, when he went to unbind Prometheus (by whom human nature is represented) sailed the length of the great ocean,

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