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Providence has indeed smiled upon our cause once more. The result, of all others, which at the present moment I could have desired. It -will cheer and send courage and hope through the country. You must have ridden hard to reach me so quickly, sir."
"My horse is much jaded, sir."
"And your arm?"
"Was marked by an ugly customer from the enemy."
"Ir it not painful V
"I am so much delighted, sir, to have the honour of bearing the despatch, and of seeing your face, sir, that I do not notice my pain— or not very much."
"Rest to-night, sir, and in the morning, with a fresh horse, I shall want you to return with communications. But, Major Buel"—
"Lieutenant Buel, sir, if you please. I have the honour to be Lieutenant"—
"Very well, sir, that will do for to-night. But the terms in which your General speaks of your services, in times past, as well as in the late battles are such, that when you call at my tent to-morrow morning, you will receive a commission as Major."
The young officer blushed and bowed, but was too much surprised to make any reply. Washington instantly saw the state of his mind, and at once entered into long and minute inquiries as to the battles, their order, commencement, termination, and the like. He seemed to comprehend the whole at once. After a protracted conversation he said, "Major, you must need rest, and your arm must need attention. At sunrise to-morrow morning, all shall be ready for you." Then calling an officer, he said, "Conduct Major Buel to his quarters. He is to rest undisturbed by company, and be ready for an early start: and as his horse is jaded, he will take Hawk-eye instead. Call in my aids."
With his commission, Major Buel returned to his own standard; but his arm was so shattered that it was soon apparent that he must either lose the limb, or leave the army for the present. The latter alternative was pressed upon him by his General, and with great reluctance he consented to receive a blank furlough, at a time when the hopes and the prospects of his country were becoming brighter and more sure of success.
Once more the young Major found himself on the banks of the Piscataqua, in his own humble home, with his own kind sister to nurse him. He had time to look over the past, to recruit his strength, and to take care of his arm, which, owing to neglect, or want of proper management, threatened to take its own time to get well. It must be told, too, that he continued to have some conversations with Kate
Hamilton,—the same beautiful girl whom he had conducted out of the state of New York, and placed with his sister, till such a time as she could discover her father's residence. By an unexpected legacy, Major Buel had come in possession of a pretty property, and for the times, was comparatively wealthy. One would think he might now have been contented and happy. But no! the fellow must tease Rate, and make her flutter and blush, and declare that she never could think of it without her father's knowledge and blessing, till, in order to have the right to be near him, and nurse him, she did consent—to marry him! How can it be wondered at? She knew not that she had a father or a friend in the world. They took a house, and a happy home it was.
For three years subsequent to their marriage, Major Buel was the Government Agent for the troops and forts in that region, and had spared no time or expense in trying to discover the father of his wife, if, indeed, he was living; but all in vain. He had written in all directions, and inquired of every Indian whom he met. They had about given up all search, when, meeting with a Mic-Mac Indian, the Major received information that excited attention. .
"My dear," said he to his wife, "I beg you will not have your expectations too muchjaised; but Keelo, a Mic-Mac, has described a man who, as I hope, may prove to be your father."
"Oh! that it may be as I wish and pray!" and the tears fell fast. "I must go with you in the search, and so must Annette."
"Annette! why, it is far off through the deep, howling wilderness! You would not take our child, but two years old, through these perils?"
"I can surely go where my husband can go; and he is too good a woodsman to let either of us suffer. We may need—or I may need—the child as a mediator, should we even find my father."
The Major was nonplussed. But like all good husbands, he soon saw something wise in the plan of his wife, and concluded to do as she said.
The Miramichi, in the province of New Brunswick, is a noble river, heading far up the forest, where none but the hunter's foot had ever trod. The tall pines that lined its banks were untouched by the feller's axe, and lifted themselves up to a magnificent height. Far up among these pines, by itself alone, stood a cottage—as if declining all intercourse with men. Its only inhabitant was an aged man, who lived solitarily enough. It was plain that he had means enough, for the forest-men brought for his use furniture and luxuries to which they were strangers. The old man seemed to hold little or no intercourse with the world. His amusement was in reading a fine collection of books, and now and then in taking a fine salmon from the river, on whose banks his dwelling stood, or shooting a deer as he came into his little clover-field back of his house. The forest-men said he had been there some years, but nobody seemed to know anything about him.
The old man kept his house, garden, and premises very neat. Every day he would go out and take exercise, and then sit down and read, or live over the past, and have the reveries of age—what ho might, and would do, if he could be young again. At his window was a beautiful rose-bush in full blossom, and the inside of the cottage was tastefully arranged. One day he sat down to his books, and, after reading for a time, he fell asleep and dreamed. He was carried back for years, to the time when Rate was a bright little child, and danced around him like a sunbeam in his dwelling. He dreamed that she stood before him in all the joyousness of childhood, making her ringing notes to thrill upon his heartstrings. He awoke—for he heard her utter the name of
"Father;" What was his amazement! There stood a little girl, resting her beautiful head on his knee, in all the confidence and loveliness of childhood—the very image of Kate! And there knelt Kate herself, with her hands on his arm and shoulder, while a fine-looking man stood near to support her! Convulsively he clenched his fist, and turned away his head. Oh! that was the child who had deceived him, as he thought, and ran off and married a rebel soldier! And that was the man who had inflicted a wound so cruel! But, though he averted his face, and shut his fist, the father struggled hard. He did not repel the dear little Annette. He did not shake off his child: He said not a word; but when his daughter could command herself so as to relate the whole circumstances of her departure, of her marriage, and of her history, the tears fell fast and scalding. He clasped his daughter to his heart, and, sobbing like a child, exclaimed, "Oh, my child! my child! what a long dream of sorrow I have had! I have prayed often and much, that my Soitowr might do me good, but never expected to have them turned into joy! What sorrows came on me on your Departure—"
"Yes, dear father; but what joys will follow—The Retcrn!"
THE ERECTION OF ST. STEPHEN'S CATHEDRAL AT VIENNA.
AN AUSTRIAN LEGEND.
BY C. B. BURKHARDT.
It was long past midnight. Alone in his silent chamber sat the old master Octavian Falkner, busily engaged upon draughts and plans; the councilmen of the city of Vienna had entrusted a most important and difficult work to his skill,—the building of St. Stephen's Cathedral. Falkner was known near and far as the most skilful of architects, and many a town and city owed much of its splendour and beauty to his taste and talent; but this time he could hit upon no plan that satisfied his ambition. It was his wish and desire to make this, his last work, a building truly worthy to be called' the house of the Lord, a fit temple for the worship of the Most High; for Falkner was already much advanced in years, and had daily to expect that the great Architect of the
universe would recall him from his earthly labours.
Thus he had already passed many a night in thought and study, had drawn many a plan, but had still found none to satisfy the elevated ideas of grandeur which possessed his soul. And even now, when the first gray dawn of day peeped through his window, and his lamp flickered dimly, Master Falkner still held in his hand the drawing-pencil with which he had already sketched so many plans, only to reject them all again.
A gentle knock was now heard at the door, and a young man, strongly and well built, but of exceeding personal beauty and gentleness of features, entered the room. Respectfully he bowed, holding his black velvet cap in his hand, as he asked in a sonorons and gentle voioe, "Whether Master Falkner wanted a workman?"
The old man's penetrating look rested for a long time upon the youth; it seemed strange that a workman should come to seek employ at so early an hour—but the longer the master looked upon his visiter, the more he felt favourably inclined towards him ; and suddenly a new light seemed to dawn upon his senses—the plan which, so long, he had sought in vain, was at once clearly and firmly impressed upon his soul. The whole grand structure of the Cathedral was before his mind's eye, and quickly, with firm and experienced hand, he sketched the single sections of the magnificent plan. As, with a happy face and thankful heart, he overlooked the whole, he again perceived the stranger, who still stood at a respectful distance modestly awaiting a reply.
"Thou art most welcome," exclaimed the master, proffering his hand; "your appearance was well-timed, and now you shall steadily assist me at this building, the plan of which became clear and distinct to my mind the instant I beheld you. And should my strength fail me before my great plan is accomplished, you shall finish the edifice in my stead, for you seem to have appeared to me like a messenger from my Lord and Master, to whose honour and glory I have already built many a temple, and am now about to build the last. Enough, we shall remain together."
The youth shook hands with the old master, to confirm the bargain, and that day the foundation of St. Stephen's Cathedral was laid. Everywhere was Angelo — for that was the name of the strange workman—at hand, in every place was he ready with advice and counsel, and although the old master had not communicated his plans to him, yet he seemed to know every line of his design, to the most minute particulars; for wherever old Falkner could not be present and direct the building himself, Angelo did so in his stead, and the master was often no little astonished, when he came and found his plans executed even without his own direction.
Besides Angelo, there were of course a great number of other strange workmen employed at the building; all of these were much attached to Angelo, and a friendly word from him would at all times induce them to work cheerfully even beyond the working hours. For the old master, who feared that he would not live to see the completion of his work, hurried them, and his young friend aided his endeavours. By these means the affection of Octavian Falkner towards Angelo increased daily, and often he confided to his skill the execution of a task such as is usually only given to the foreman.
The foreman, whose name was Piedro, was a man of most repulsive personal appearance; his hair and beard were coarse and red, his small gray eyes lay deep beneath a sharply projecting forehead, and the malicious expression of his ugly face was positively fiendish. The master himself could gain no proper confidence in this man, and would much rather have confided the supervision of Mr workmen and apprentices to Angelo, if the latter had only been a little older.
Piedro observed this well, and from that hour persecuted the young man with all the hatred and envy of his nature. Wherever he could injure him, or could balk his good intentions, he never missed a chance, and never failed to excite the ill feelings of his fellowworkmen against Angelo.
One morning, whilst Angelo, with many others, was working upon a staging at some distance from the foreman, he observed that the staging was but slightly secured, and in danger of breaking down. As the erection and supervision of the stagings was solely the business of the foreman, Angelo called the workmen down from their dangerous position, and went to Piedro to call his attention to the fault in the staging. When he arrived at the place where the foreman was working with about twenty men, he overheard the following conversation.
"But why," began Piedro, "should the good city of Vienna erect such a costly building? Are there not churches enough already without this, and is it not a waste of time and money to build one so very magnificent as this? In olden times they had no churches at all, and people were no worse then than now: on the contrary, they were richer and happier, because they did not feed a pack of lazy parsons and priests upon the fruits of their industry, nor build stone churches with them. We are positive fools to work with so much industry and energy upon this building! What, after all, is the difference whether it is completed one year sooner or later? Let us take j-it easy, boys."
"Piedro speaks wisely," commenced another. "The large sums of money which are expended on this building might help the poor of the good city of Vienna out of all sorts of trouble and need. And that would be serving the Lord much better, and in a more reasonable way, than by building expensive churches. Come, let us have a holiday for to-day."
"I know," said a third, "that building is necessary; for how else should wo get work and the means of living? but why should they always build churches, where painters and sculptors always get as much, or even more money than we? Why don't they build fine houses and manufactories? I say we are fools if we work a bit more at this building than our regular hours."
'' But our master says that this building is to the greater honour and glory of God," observed a fourth; "and Angelo says, that a true man takes more pleasure and delight in seeing his work well and nicely done, than in the wages he receives for it."
"Angelo is a greenhorn, who has bewildered your senses with his fantastic ideas !" growled Piedro, at the moment when the subject of his remark joined the group.
"It is not well, Piedro," said Angelo, in a quiet and modest tone, "to dampen the energy and industry of the workmen by such speeches as yours. How Master Falkner would grieve to hear you speak thus, for the desire to see the edifice quickly completed gives him no rest, neither night or day. He is an old man, and his days are numbered; for love of him, my friends, if you will not for the glory of your Great Master in heaven, be industrious and persevering in your work."
"Angelo is right, and we have spoken very wrongly and stupidly just now," said a young workman, as, with a blush of shame upon his cheeks, he resumed his labour. Most of the other workmen followed his example, with the exception of Piedro, who gruffly exclaimed, "Hold your tongue, and keep your wisdom to yourself, or else run and carry tales to the master, and tell him what you have been listening to."
"I do not wish to answer your unjust speech," replied Angelo, "but only wish you to come with me, for the staging upon which we are to work threatens to break down."
The foreman muttered a curse between his teeth, and his furious look rested upon the youth, who silently walked before him. He had maliciously laid the plan to kill or disable Angelo for a long time; as he knew that the latter was always the first to mount and examine a staging, he had purposely constructed it badly. For he hated Angelo, and hoped easily to seduce all the labourers to his evil ways, if Angelo, in whom they all had confidence, and whom they loved, was no longer among them.
Angelo did not speak to his mastef of what had happened, but kept quietly on in his correct course. By his indefatigable industry and his friendly admonitions, he advanced the edifice as much as possible, and foiled every bad intention of the foreman.
One evening Angelo lay restlessly upon his couch; the building of the cathedral had advanced as far as the erection of the steeple, and Angelo, who lived in a little attic room very
near by, felt a desire to look at the beautiful structure. He dressed himself and looked out of the window, for the moon shone clear and bright. He had not looked long at the unfinished steeple, when he thought he saw a figure moving about among the boards and rafters of a high staging.
"Can Piedro again be working mischief?" he said to himself. "I must at once see what this means."
Hastily he drew his cloak around him, left the house, and as he well knew every nook and corner of that large building, he soon reached a place whence he could overlook the steeple. He was not mistaken; upon the highest staging stood the foreman; Angelo at once recognised his short, broad-shouldered figure.
"What can he be doing up there so late as this?" thought Angelo; "surely he did not ascend that place at midnight from love for the master or anxiety for the edifice."
Cautiously he approached the staging upon which he had seen Piedro a moment before; the latter, however, had disappeared, and no one was upon the staging. But scarcely had Angelo set his foot upon it, when with a fearful crash it broke down, and the youth was precipitated down that fearful height. In falling, Angelo saw the figure of the wicked foreman standing securely upon one of the rafters; but that figure was twice as large as the living Piedro, and a fiery red apron was wrapped like a cloak around his shoulders, and upon his red hat he wore a black cock-plume.
The noise of the falling staging quickly awoke all the neighbours, and soon people were at hand to extricate Angelo from the ruins. Master Falkner too appeared, and was greatly distressed at the idea that evil had befallen his young friend; but, wonderful to relate, the latter had not received the least injury. He had fallen upon a pile of straw mattresses, which lay on the lowest staging, and which had been used the day before, to protect statuary and stone basso-relief work against injury on hoisting. On the following day already, he again appeared at his work, although his escape from injury was looked upon by all as a great miracle; the foreman, however, had disappeared that night, and was never again seen or heard from afterwards.
On one bright day, not long after the occurrence of the above events, the city of Vienna exhibited signs of great excitement and commotion. From every part of the empire, princes, nobles, and brave knights, fair ladies, yeomen and their wives and children, had come to Vienna to see the magnificent structure of St. Stephen's Cathedral, which was now completed, and which the Pope himself was to dedicate on this day. From every spire in the city, deeptoned bells called the Christian people to the solemn ceremony, and few who could possibly come there, stayed away.
Only the master, whose mind had created this splendid edifice, the pride and glory of his old age, only he lay sick and exhausted upon his couch, and whilst thousands repaired to trie cathedral, he alone had to remain behind. Since the day when the evergreen wreath had been placed by the workmen upon the finished steeple, he had not been able to leave his house. As he heard the solemn and deep call of the bells, as he even heard the sound of the chorals through the lonely stillness around him, he folded his weary hands across his breast, and said sadly:
"Then I am not permitted to see that edifice completed; the house that I build for the honour and glory of my Father in Heaven! I am not permitted to kneel and pray among my fellow-men, and there to thank the Almighty for the strength he gave me to complete my last work,—for I feel it, that my earthly labour is now at an end! Oh it. is a hard, sad fate, hut I will not murmur against the will of my Creator."
And he lay quietly and suffering, but from his sunken eyes bitter tears course slowly down his pale cheeks. Suddenly, even as in that night when he found the plan for his edifice, the door opened and Angelo entered; his figure appeared to the old master's eyes taller and
nobler than ever before, and his face had a bright transparent appearance. He approached the sick-bed, and with a voice, soft and gentle, but whose tones directly spoke to the heart, he said,
"Arise, your faith will help you, and the rich fount of God's mercy will again make you young and strong. I will conduct you to the Cathedral of St. Stephen's which you have built."
And suddenly the old master feels a wonderful strength; he feels that he again has the use of stiffened and lame limbs; he rises in his bed, his eye is again clear, his foot strong, and he takes the hand of the youth, who conducts him to the open portal of the cathedral.
There the congregation is kneeling, while solemn chorals are heard from the deep-toned organ; and Master Falkner as he beholds the perfect beauty of his work, sinks upon his knees, and in pious inspiration exclaims:
"Thou hast done this, oh Lord, my Father, and I have been but an humble instrument in Thy hands; but now I will gladly die, since my eyes hare been thus blessed."
Again he folded his hands across his breast, a blissful smile played upon his lips, and he sank dead on the ground. Those who stood around him, saw a handsome youth resembling Angelo, but standing in a halo of light, bend over the dead master, then ascend like a cloud of incense and melt into air.
THE EDITORS TABLE
Is modelled after the city of its birth, being; made np entirely of rectangles and plane surfaces. It is, to speak geometrically, a rectangular parallelogram, five feet long by three and a half wide, and standing just two feet four inches from the floor. The plane superficies, thus described, is of black walnut, covered with cloth, and unencumbered except with the ordinary writing implements standing in the centre;—for however llt(t)er-ary it may seem to bare a table strewn with books and periodicals and rolls of MSS., yet in truth the "Editor," like the gladiator, wants nothing so much as a clear field. He may have a lounge on one side of the sanctum for a friend who calls to chat. He may have his shelves well laden with books. He may have his closet, with pigeon-holes unnumbered, where in well-assorted rows the "prose and poetry'' of honoured contributors await their turn, in the various stages between receipt, acceptance, printing, and publication. He may even indulge in the mystery of drawers in his table, one, say, to hold his paper, another his portfolio, another his unanswered letters, another his manuscripts not yet disposed of. But "the table" itself must be clear of all obstructions. What oceans of elbow-room does it not give? How its rectangles help to detect every deficient or hypermeter syllable In the "verses" so often laid out upon it for dissection? How its dead level harwith but too many of the articles spread out i? When a new book is to be critis facilities for inspecting it, near by or
at a distance,
paper and typography, letter-press and embellishments and all the varied lights and shadows of literary excellence!
Will some of our poetical correspondents give us a translation of Lamartine'a Impromptu?
Will the ingenious author of the response to Da Solle's Poet-Martyr have the goodness to communicate her name?
GEORGE R. GRAHAM.
It is with much gratification that we are enabled to welcome back our friend George R. Graham, Esq., to his old position in the Magazine which has always borne bis name. To know him intimately is to esteem him, and none have had better opportunities of appreciating his worth than we. The business relations of the publishers of Sartain's Magazine with him, commenced as long as ten years ago, one in the capacity of artist, and the other as confidential clerk, and this continued uninterruptedly during the whole of bis triumphant career as Proprietor and Editor of "Graham's Magazine." Changes of fortune had severed his connexion with it as to ownership some time before the commencement of our own very successful enterprise, and the editorship was largely shared by other hands; but now it is again emphatically '* Graham?a Magazine," and it is in cordial sincerity we say to him "God Speed."