broad straw hat over his face, and slunk down stairs. There he paced the deck almost in a state of madness; he reached out his arm as though to clutch the receding shore, and then smiled bitterly, and swore it was a lie-all a lie, and tried to compose his features to a hypocritical expression of calmness. Everybody was pointing at him-he knew it! but he would not afford them the gratification of seeing the deep wound he had sustained. No! other men learned to deceive; all mankind were deceivers more or less; there lived no human being who, tasting of the bitter waters of life as well as of the sweet, did not learn to dissemble-to wear a smiling face, although the fruit of the tree of Knowledge and Evil was in their mouth at the time, and piercing like a thorn!

After all it was but a report. These wretched men! what were they, that they should with a breath sully the spotless purity of his childlike Julia? as he loved to call her. He reasoned with his fears and grew calm again; was ready to think it all a dream when he arrived at his destination, and gave his mind for the time to the business which brought him.

Somewhat sooner than he had expected, he found himself at home again, and before the steps of Julia's residence. He paused on the threshold to hear that she had gone with her sister and Mr. Richmond to explore the beauties of a new country-seat of the latter, which was situated about six miles out of town. The strong man trembled for a moment, but controlling himself with an effort, received from the servant a few directions as to where he should find them, and, obtaining a carriage, followed them.

What he was going to do, he scarcely knew. To see Julia he believed, but whether as his, or another's, he knew not. One thing was clear to him,- -a few hours would prove all things.

It was an afternoon in May, soft and balmy, redolent with the fragrance of flowers, and dreamy with the accustomed indolence of the season. As Roland bowled rapidly over the broad, level road, the shadows of his coming fate seemed to settle thickly upon him, with many voices whispering hoarsely through the deep agony of unshed tears; his very lips grew pale and rigid in the struggle against such weakness as he deemed it, and before thinking of it, he had reached the lane which crossed the road, and led to the tasty cottage of Stacy Richmond. Fastening his horse to a tree at the foot of a beautiful avenue, he trod the smooth, serpentine walk with a hurried step, strangely at variance with his usual composed demeanour. As he drew near the house, the sound of voices and light laughter came through the latticed casements. The lower shutters were

closed, but perched upon a step-ladder, which seemed to have been used for flowers, he was surprised to observe two or three domestics taking stolen glimpses into the room below, and snapping their fingers and rolling their eyes at each other with vulgar significance.

"Where are the ladies? What are you looking at?" he demanded, in tones by no means gentle. Starting at being detected, the servants turned their heads, but stood regarding Wendall with a mixture of fright and stupidity.

"Who is in there?" he repeated.

"Oh! it's the Miss Flashes, and masterMister Richmond, you see, sir, out enjoying themselves this fine afternoon," replied an awkward-looking boy, who might belong to the stables, casting a disgusting leer, as he spoke, at the girl beside him on the steps; "and we climbed up here to have a bit of the fun, if you please, sir," bowing and scraping in a manner more insolent than respectful.

"Never mind, sir, what you got up there for! I'll trouble you to come down, and show me the way into the house."

66

Wendall's whole manner was stern and decided, but the boy hesitated. Why you see it's as much as my wages is worth to disturb master when he gives his orders; and they's very full of fun indeed, now; just look for yourself!"

From an impulse for which Roland Wendall in a cooler moment would have despised himself, he stepped upon the ladder. "You see they's very happy indeed," repeated the boy in his ear with a chuckle, as Roland put his hand to his forehead for a moment, and then with an effort bent his eyes upon the scene within.

Better be blind than see what he did that moment!

A table covered with an elegant cold collation was spread in the centre of the apartment, and there was evidence enough in the disordered disposition of affairs that the wine-glass had circulated freely. Esther Flash seemed intent on the demolition of the viands, but Richmond, who sat opposite her, talking in maudlin sentences, had the fair hand of his spotless betrothed clasped closely between his own, while she alternately bent those bewildering eyes on him with a mixture of softness and contempt, and partook of the good cheer upon the table.

There was a grossness in the whole scene which shocked Wendall after the first thrill of agony. That beautiful girl-that fair girlthat innocent girl-in such a place, exposed to the coarse, wanton jests of those vulgar servants, and listening to a string of sickening compliments from a half-drunken man, with

perfect composure-even in the presence of her sister;-penetrating enough to feel contempt, yet so unprincipled, so immoral (Wendall could think of no other word), as to suffer his love-as to encourage it, while on her finger glistened the ring he had placed there, with feelings so pure, so elevated!

With a shudder he could not control, Wendall turned to descend.

"How long have they been here?" he asked in a hoarse whisper of the servant girl.

"Better than two hours," was the reply; "and yesterday they was here too, and once before!" and the girl smiled slyly, as one might do who could tell much more for the asking. But Wendall had heard enough, and waving his hand, turned and trod the way to his carriage with a firm, stern step.

While the revel went on within the cottage, more and more scattered grew the wits of the

weak-minded Richmond.

"Only one more glass!" pleaded the smiling

Julia, as he declined to taste again, "to pledge me, you know!" she added, resting her hand upon his arm appealingly, and once again that sligtly scornful smile flitted to her lips as he drank, and then threw himself upon the floor beside her, and raved incoherently.

66

'I don't know whether, after all, I love you enough to marry you," she said, after listening to him for awhile, and she spoke with the most enchanting sauciness in the world," Poor Wendall!" But before they had gathered on their riding equipments she had promised to forsake "poor Wendall," and become Richmond's wife, "whom only she could love as she was capable of doing." More, she had consented to a speedy clandestine marriage (mamma being in the secret, of course, and Esther), for she had so adroitly to work on Richmond's fears, lest he should lose her, that he rested not till she promised this, and then Julia Flash sank back among the cushions, to congratulate herself upon the success of her manoeuvres in bringing to her feet so speedily, the shy, shallow, imbecile, but wealthy man, for whom mothers and daughters had alike exerted their arts in vain, through many successive seasons.

The ring which Wendall had given her was displaced, ere she slept, by another, but she was saved the trouble, or it might be triumph, of surprising him with her falsehood, for, on her arrival at home, a note awaited her, which contained merely these lines:

"Julia :—I was out at Richmond Cottage this afternoon, and through the window beheld what occurred.-Adieu."

Julia Flash shrugged her shoulders, and sought her mother and sister, to laugh over the success of her intrigues. Esther's sympathy was sullen enough; for principle she cared too little to regret the heartless game just played on that account, but there was somethe thought of being distanced by her own and thing galling to her jealous temperament, in

younger sister. But the mother was warm in commendation of her clever daughter's success, albeit Julia warned her not to expect too much from her fortunate marriage.

So Julia Flash entered the costly home of Stacy Richmond, Esq., with her foot firmly planted on the ladder to fortune, and convinced beyond doubt, that her confidence in her own abilities was correct, since her first step had But look not too far for

been so true a one.

ward, wily girl! there must be thorns hidden somewhere among the roses, for you yourself have sown good seed, which will not fail to bring forth fruit!

It was to be regretted even, that Richmond, weak and dissipated as he was, should have been so completely duped, for he had given his heart, such as it was, entirely to his cold, selfcentred Julia, exulting in the belief that he was master at last of one disinterested attachment, since he had witnessed her struggles to love Wendall, and subdue her attachment to

him.

How long his ignorance remained bliss to him, it is needless to speculate upon. To have married a loveless wife, worse,-an unprincipled one, and an exacting family, were evils which would not fail to impress themselves on the mind with more speed than agreeableness.

Perhaps the saddest spectacle of all, was the crushed heart which Roland Wendall locked up in his bosom. To have loved an unworthy object may make the sentiment more easy to subdue, but it is very dark to see the bright angel, Faith, blotted out from life! Can any visitant depart and leave so hopeless a void? Often, as years sped on, Roland dreamed he saw her meek eyes smiling upon him again, but they smiled from the far heaven, and he felt that he must wait to go to her-she could never come to him.

To sketch Darley's history is a matter somewhat annoying to me, since I have obtained no material from himself, and it will be necessary in speaking of him, to use the first person, singular, more frequently than may be acceptable. But the truth is that I, though no artist, was connected slightly by circumstances with Mr. Darley's early career in art; and as Mr. Sartain desires from me all that I know of the personal history of the artist, I shall have to place myself occasionally as bobtail to the latter's kite.

mings pointed to a pen-sketch, hastily done on the outer sheet of a quire of wrapping-paper which lay on the table. The moment I looked at it I laughed. It was not a likeness in feature, but in character, of a drunken fellow whom I had seen a few minutes previous, in selfsatisfied recumbency, disposed against a treebox in the street. There was no mistaking it. The expression of the figure was admirable; the artist had succeeded in transferring "the entire drunk," as they say in the West, of his subject, with a few pen-strokes. I obtained

During the year 1842, I forget now what day and month, and have no data at hand, I had occasion to have some illustrations drawn for a poem which I purposed to publish, and found much difficulty in obtaining a proper artist. While looking round for the required person, I happened to call on G. Parker Cummings, the architect, to whom I complained of my troubles. "Pooh! yes!" said he, in his peculiar way, "I know the man to suit you exactly. There's a young fellow in town, a clerk, who has the real stuff in him. He left here about ten minutes since. That will give you some idea of his power." So saying, Cum

young artist forthwith, and introduced myself and my business. At my request, he showed me a number of his sketches. Among these were illustrations of "Manfred," "The Maid and Magpie," "The Drunkard's Progress," "Cromwell," "Scenes in the Life of an Indian Chief," "Philadelphia Character," and many others, mostly in outline.

At the same time, he seemed to be distrustful of his own power, and to doubt if he could execute the work I wanted in a satisfactory manner. Of this distrust I did not at all partake. The force, vigour, and beauty of what I saw, though full of errors of drawing, satisfied me that a great artist stood before me in

The next work of Darley issued to the public, was a series of outline etchings on stone, now out of print, giving the adventures of an Indian Chief from his bark cradle to his grave. To

this I furnished the letter-press portion, under the name of "The Death of War-Eagle." One number of this, containing three plates, and the only copy I possess of any of the series, now lies before me. Far inferior as it is, in point of mechanical execution and general finish, to his later productions, it still moves admiration at its boldness of design, effective grouping, and individual character.

By this time the talents of Darley began to excite attention, and to make an impression on the minds of those much-abused, but rather necessary beings, the book-publishers. Carey and Hart were about to publish a series of humorous American works, and engaged the pencil of Darley to illustrate them. Among these books were "The Life and Adventures of Captain Simon Suggs," Hooper's remarkably clever book; "The Big Bear of Arkansas," and "Major Jones's Courtship." In these books was collected a set of stories peculiar to the South and West; and the new character thus thrown open to him, while it afforded him a scope for the exercise of his abilities, provoked him to the production of designs, which, for exquisite adherence to nature, have never been equalled on this side of the Atlantic, or surpassed elsewhere. No one who sees them can fail to be struck with the truth and fidelity of these designs. Their character is inimitable. Whether in the figure and face of Captain Suggs, the attitude and manner of Kit Kuncker, or the whole tone of Deacon Suggs's negro boy Bill, of whom Hooper makes his hero say-" Thar's more nigger in him than you'll meet now-adays in a whole cornfield"-the genius of the artist reigns supreme The quaint humour, the individuality of character, preserved through every variety of incident, and the grasping of every accessory, render these drawings the most effective and admirable that ever delighted the lover of humorous delineation.

Now began Darley's tide of gold-making to flow in, bearing reputation on its surface; and he had no longer any fears in regard to his success, so far as pecuniary matters were concerned.

But Philadelphia was not his proper place. I urged him to go to New York, where the field was left entirely open by the departure of Chapman. The artist still doubted if he could make an impression out of Phila

he finally consented to go to New York, temporarily, to see if he liked the place; and, as I expected, never returned to Philadelphia, except as a visiter. His genius was at once appreciated in the Empire City, and from that day to this he has been busily engaged. Among the most notable things which he has produced within the last two years, are illustrations to Mrs. Sigourney's "Poems," Washington Irving's "Sketch Book," " Rip Van Winkle," the latter published by the American Art Union, and " Margaret;" which last is to be shortly issued. The illustrations to Margaret are superior to any of his former productions, and will produce a sensation when they are laid before the public. I saw them about eighteen months since, and have no words to convey my appreciation of their vigour and beauty.

It may be as well also to mention in this connexion, that a series of his designs, fourteen in number, illustrating Wiley's novel of "Roanoke, or Where's Utopia?" executed for Sartain's Magazine last year, have attracted so much attention abroad, that they are to be republished in book-form in London.

Thus far I have given what I know personally of Darley, and have been obliged to mix myself up with the narrative more than is consonant with good taste. There was no other resource than to mention personal reminiscences, as the artist has not probably lost all his olden diffidence, and would be horrified at being made an accessory before the fact to the "taking of his own life." What is said is true, however, and that may invest it with an additional interest.

Of Mr. Darley's birth and early life I know very little, beyond that he is the youngest son of John and Elenora Darley, and was born in 1821. His family is one possessing more than an ordinary share of talent. His mother was a lady of strong, clear, and vigorous mind; one of his brothers is a musical composer of some merit; another brother and an elder sister (Mrs. Sully), are exceedingly able artists; and another sister is a forcible and fertile writer. His family is respected and respectable, and his parents have been universally wellregarded for their fine manners, kind hearts, and estimable character.

Darley's drawings are transcripts of character. That which they assume to portray they do portray. There is nothing lost which is necessary to make up the perfect whole; there is a thorough identification of the thought and the pencil; each figure has the stamp of an unmistakeable individuality of character.