'United now, alive and free, Firm on this basis Liberty shall stand; And thus supported, ever bless our land, Till Time becomes Eternity.'

The designs both of 1774 and 1775 were excellent—the first, by a visible illustration, showing the disjointed state of the colonies; and the second presenting an emblem of their strength when united. Holt maintained his integrity to the last. When the British troops took possession of New York, he removed to Esopus, now Kingston, and revived his paper. On the burning of that village by the enemy in 1777, he removed to Poughkeepsie, and published the Journal there until the peace of 1783, when he returned to New York and resumed his paper under the title of The Independent Gazette; or, The New York Journal Revived. Holt was an unflinching patriot, but did not long survive the achievement of his country's freedom. In 1784 he gave his paper a new typographical dress, and commenced publishing it twice a week, being the second paper thus frequently published in the United States. He died, however, early in that year. The Journal was continued for a time by the widow; but after undergoing several changes of name and proprietorship, it passed into the hands of Francis Greenleaf in 1787, by whom it was converted into a daily paper, called the Argus, or Greenleaf's New Daily Advertiser. A semi-weekly paper was also published by Greenleaf, called the New York Journal and Patriotic Register. Mr. Greenleaf was a practical printer and an estimable and enterprising man. He fell a victim to the yellow fever in 1798. The paper was continued by his widow for a little while, but ultimately fell into the hands of that celebrated political gladiator, James Cheetham.

The Independent Reflector was a paper commenced by James Parker in 1752, and continued for two years. Among its contributors were Governor Livingston, the Rev. Aaron Burr (father of the distinguished and unhappy statesman of that name), William Alexander (afterward Lord Stirling), and William Smith, the historian of New York. The tone of the paper was unsuited to the ears of the men in power: it was free and fearless in its discussions; and means were found to silence it. The belief was that Parker was suborned to refuse longer to publish it.

The celebrated James Rivington began his paper, under the formidable title of Rivington's New York Gazette; or, The Connecticut, New Jersey, Hudson's River, and Quebec Weekly Advertiser, in 1733. The imprint read as follows: 'Printed at his ever open and uninfluenced press, fronting Hanover Square.' It is well known that Rivington was the royal printer during the whole of the Revolutionary War; and it is amusing to trace the degrees by which his toryism manifested itself as the storm gathered over the country. The title of the paper originally contained a cut of a large ship under sail. In 1774, the ship sailed out of sight, and the King's arms appeared in its place; and in 1775 the words ever open and uninfluenced were withdrawn from the imprint. These symptoms were disliked by the patriots of the country, and in November, 1775, a party of armed men from Connecticut entered the city on horseback, beset his habitation, broke into his printing office, destroyed his presses, and threw his types into pi. They then carried them away, melted, and cast them into bullets. Rivington's paper was now effectually stopped—'omitted for want of room'—until the British army took possession of the city. Rivington himself meantime had been to England, where he procured a new printing apparatus, and returning, established 'The New York Royal Gazette, published by James Rivington, printer to the King's most excellent Majesty.' During the remaining five years of the war, Rivington's paper was the most distinguished for its lies, and its loyalty, of any other journal in America. It was published twice a week; and four other newspapers were published in New York, at the same time, under the sanction of the British officers—one arranged for each day, so that, in fact, they had the advantages of a daily paper. It has been said, and believed, that Rivington, after all, was a secret traitor to the crown, and, in fact, the secret informant of Washington. Be this, however, as it may, as the war drew to a close, and the prospects of the King's arms began to darken, Rivington's loyalty began to cool down; and by 1787 the King's arms had disappeared and the title of the paper, no more the Royal Gazette, was simply Rivington's New York Gazette and Universal Advertiser. But although he labored to play the republican, he was distrusted by the people, and his paper was relinquished in the course of that year.

In 1775, Samuel Loudon commenced his New York Pacquet and American Advertiser. When New York fell into the hands of the enemy, Loudon removed to Fishkill, and published his paper there. At the close of the war he returned to the city, and began a daily paper, which was continued many years.

We have thus sketched the history of printing, and of the newspaper press in Boston and New York, from the introduction of the art, down to the period of the Revolution. From these brief sketches, an idea may be formed of the germ of the newspaper press which is now one of the chief glories of our country. The public press of no other country equals that of the United States, either on the score of its moral or its intellectual power, or for the exertion of that manly independence of thought and action, which ought to characterize the press of a free people. What a prophet would the great wizard novelist of Scotland have been, had the prediction which he put into the mouth of Galeotti Martivalle, the astrologer of Louis the Eleventh, in the romance of Quentin Durward, been written at the period of its date! Louis, who has justly been held as the Tiberius of France, is represented as paying a visit to the mystic workshop of the astrologer, whom his Majesty discovered to be engaged in the then newly invented art of multiplying manuscripts by the intervention of machinery—in other words, the apparatus of printing.

'Can things of such mechanical and terrestrial import,' inquired the king, 'interest the thoughts of one before whom Heaven has unrolled her own celestial volumes?'

'My brother,' replied the astrologer, 'believe me, that in considering the consequences of this invention, I read with as certain augury, as by any combination of the heavenly bodies, the most awful and portentous changes. When I reflect with what slow and limited supplies the stream of science hath hitherto descended to us; how difficult to be obtained by those most ardent in its search; how certain to be neglected by all who love their ease; how liable to be diverted or altogether dried up, by the invasions of barbarisms; can I look forward without wonder and astonishment, to the lot of a succeeding generation, on whom knowledge will descend like the first and second rain, uninterrupted, unabated, unbounded; fertilizing some grounds, and overflowing others; changing the whole form of social life; establishing and overthrowing religions; erecting and destroying kingdoms—'

'Hold, hold, Galeotti,' cried the king, 'shall these changes come in our time?'

'No, my royal brother,' replied Martivalle; 'this invention may be likened to a young tree, which is now newly planted, but shall, in succeeding generations, bear fruit as fatal, yet as precious, as that of the Garden of Eden; the knowledge, namely, of good and evil.'

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote A: For the benefit of the curious reader, I would state that a perfect file of the Boston News Letter is still preserved in the Worcester Historical Library. There is also an imperfect file in the New York Historical Society Library.]



RECONNOISSANCE NEAR FORT MORGAN,

AND

EXPEDITION IN LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN AND PEARL RIVER, BY THE MORTAR FLOTILLA OF CAPTAIN D. D. PORTER, U. S. N.

In a former article, on the surrender of Forts Jackson and St. Philip, which appeared in the May number of THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, allusion was made to the efficiency of the mortar flotilla, to which the Coast Survey party, under charge of Assistant F. H. Gerdes, was attached, by special direction of Flag-officer D. G. Farragut. This party rendered hydrographic and also naval service, where such was required, their steamer, the Sachem, being used by the commander of the flotilla like any other vessel under his command. Captain Porter, in his letters to the Superintendent of the Coast Survey, writes, under date of April 29, 1862: "Mr. Gerdes no doubt has written to you and sent you plans. I keep him pretty hard at work. The times require it," &c.

May 16th.—"I have not spared the Sachem, but treated her like the rest of the vessels, putting her under fire when it was necessary. I look upon the Sachem in the same light as I would upon a topographical party in the army, and if I lose her in such employment, she will have paid well for herself."

After the surrender of the Mississippi forts, the mortar fleet met at Ship Island, and the Sachem being directed to join it, arrived there on the 7th of May. Under instructions from the commander, the steamer division of the flotilla stood out for Mobile bar on the 8th, and came to anchor the same evening under the lee of Sand Key, viz.:

Harriet Lane, Com. J. M. WAINWRIGHT, flagship Westfield, Commander W. B. RENSHAW. Owasco, Commander JOHN GUEST. Clifton, Lieut. Com. CHARLES BALDWIN. Jackson, Lieut. Com. S. WOODWORTH. Sachem, As't U.S. Coast Survey, F. H. GERDES.

It was Captain Porter's design to assemble his mortar vessels, which had started the day previous from Ship Island, at the outer bar of Mobile Bay. He intended then to cross the bar on their arrival, and to come to anchor inside at given distances, for the bombardment of Forts Morgan and Gaines. Those distances were to be ascertained and minutely determined by the Coast Survey party. Unfortunately a very severe northeast storm had been raging for a day or two, which made all headway for sailing vessels impossible, sweeping most of them far out to sea. The commander directed the Coast Survey party to sound the bar, and to plant buoys at the extreme points of the shoals. Messrs. Oltmanns and Harris, each in a separate boat, were sent to perform this duty, and accomplished it by 10 o'clock A. M. The steamer Clifton accompanied the Coast Survey boats for protection, and was running up and down while the spar buoys were planted on the east and west spit, but, caught by the current, she drifted too close to the east bank inside the bar, and grounded hard and fast, just when the attempt was made to bring her round. The tide at that time was ebbing. All efforts to clear her were unsuccessful, and even the powerful steamer Jackson, which was sent to her relief by the commander, had to give up the attempt and leave her exposed to the fire of Fort Morgan. The enemy opened on her directly after she grounded, and some of the shot and shell from the fort struck within twenty yards of her bows. Captain Porter then suggested her relief by the Sachem, which, on account of her light draft, might approach nearer than the Jackson. After clearing her screw, which had got entangled by some hanging gear, the Sachem got under way, and was anchored alongside and to the southward of the Clifton just before dusk. She let go both her heavy anchors, to prevent any dragging from the great strain that must naturally result from an effort to haul off the grounded steamer. A nine-inch hawser was sent to her, one end of the hawser being made fast to the Sachem. The tide had begun to rise by this time, and fortunately at the first strain on the hawser the Clifton floated, and was quickly drawn alongside of the Sachem. There was no time to spare, as the shell and shot from the fort fell very thick; the Clifton therefore got up steam at once, and moved out of range. The Sachem remained to get up her anchors which had been slipped, and was so engaged until 10 o'clock P. M., when she came to alongside of the Harriet Lane. Captain Porter, as well as Captain Baldwin, expressed great satisfaction with the cheerful readiness and seamanship which were shown by the party on the Sachem.

On the 10th of May, at sunrise, it blew a gale from the east, and as there appeared no chance whatever for the mortar schooners to reach Mobile bar, Captain Porter signalled the steam division to return to Ship Island. The Sachem was the second vessel under way, and although comparatively slow, she had now the advantage of a full suit of sails. Early in the evening all the steamers were at anchor again at Ship Island Spit. In the night, between the 11th and 12th of May, the Harriet Lane returned with the commander, who had been in the mean time to Pensacola, and had there taken possession of Fort McRea, the navy yard, and the city, all of which were evacuated a few days previous. Captain Porter at first intended to send Assistant Gerdes, with the Sachem, to Pensacola, to replace the buoys and beacons which had been destroyed by the enemy. It was afterward decided that the party should accompany several of the steamers on an expedition in Lake Pontchartrain and the Pearl river, and in consideration of the light draft of the Coast Survey steamer, and the local information possessed by her officers, he directed that the Sachem should take the lead, and be closely followed by the Westfield, the Clifton, and the Jackson. Early in the morning of the 13th of May, he made signal from the flag ship for the division to start, and at 6 A. M. the steamers were abreast of Cat Island. The Sachem took them safely over the extensive flats, and although there were at times not more than six inches of water to spare, neither of the vessels ever touched the bottom. In the vicinity of Grand Island, a vessel was seen by the lookout, and on reporting to the senior officer of the expedition, Captain W. B. Renshaw, he directed the Sachem to give chase. A gun soon brought her to, and Mr. Harris was sent on board of her, where, on examination, he found no name, no ensign, no papers, in short, nothing but several men. The vessel was taken in tow, and delivered to Captain Renshaw, who despatched her to Ship Island. The steamers got under way again and steamed through the Rigolets, passing Fort Pike, which was then garrisoned by national troops. After entering Lake Pontchartrain in the evening, a steamer was seen some five or six miles distant, and the commanding officer, having ascertained from the Coast Survey party the sufficient depth thereabout in the lake, ordered the Clifton to follow the Sachem. At half past six P. M. a schooner was brought to by the leading vessel, and fifteen minutes later, another. Both were boarded by Messrs. Oltmanns and Harris, and found to be trading vessels with passports from General Butler. When the steamers passed the town of Mandeville, the inhabitants hoisted a large white flag high above the trees; having, probably, no American ensign. After communicating with the United States gunboat New London, all four vessels came to anchor at the Chifuncte river. It was ascertained that the New London was engaged in ferreting out the enemy's vessels in that river, and therefore Captain Renshaw determined to start next morning for the Pearl river, which he intended to examine. At five o'clock A. M. on the 14th of May, the division got under way, led as on the day before by the Sachem. At ten o'clock, the Jackson, getting out of range, grounded and signalized for assistance. The Sachem was ordered to her relief; but in the mean time, the Coast Survey party had furnished information such as would bring the other steamers safely to the mouth of Pearl river, by keeping along the southern bank in the Rigolets. When the Sachem came up with the Jackson, her captain informed Mr. Gerdes that as the transport boat Whiteman (a prize) was expected to pass soon, she would be expected to lighten and tow the steamer off. The Sachem therefore moved on, and reached the Westfield and Clifton at ten o'clock, at anchor near the mouth of Pearl river.

A row of stockades had been set by the enemy quite across that river, leaving only an opening for vessels to pass up and down. This obstruction consisted of heavy pieces of timber inserted vertically in the mud bed, and joined by cross pieces, to which were chained a number of logs so as to float off at right angles. The length extended about three quarters of a mile, and vessels could pass only through the opening, and under the fire of the guns, when Fort Pike was held by the enemy. The expediency of this device is somewhat questionable, as it plainly designated the otherwise intricate channel, and might have enabled a swift steamer to run the batteries without danger of being detained on the extensive mud flats.

At eight o'clock on the morning of the 15th of May, the three steamers weighed anchor, and stood up Pearl river, the Westfield and the Clifton following in the wake of the Sachem. At eleven o'clock, Pearlington was reached, a straggling village. Here two schooners and a small steamer (the William Hancock) were found, and boarded by Mr. Harris of the Sachem; but when it was proved that they had not been engaged in aiding the rebel cause, they were not further molested. The steamers of the mortar flotilla ascended the river about thirteen miles above Pearlington, when the stream became quite narrow, and the turns so abrupt, that further progress for the larger boats seemed to be impracticable. Captains Renshaw and Baldwin therefore anchored their vessels, and went on board of the Sachem, which, on account of her lighter draught and less beam, could ascend higher, and was besides easier to manage. While pushing on with her, it was frequently necessary to fasten her stern to the trees, and to tow her bow around at the very abrupt turns in the river. Within three miles of Gainesville, where the stream became extremely narrow and crooked, with the shores on both sides thickly wooded, the Sachem encountered a very sudden ambuscade, and received a heavy fire of musketry from the eastern bank. This was immediately returned from the vessel by some sixty rifle and musket shots, and discharges of small arms were continued in rapid succession from both sides for some time. The executive officer of the Sachem, Mr. J. G. Oltmanns, of the United States Coast Survey, while on the forecastle directing the crew, was dangerously wounded by a rifle ball in the breast, and fell. He was at once removed to the cabin, and Acting Assistant Harris directed to take his place. This he did instantly, and remained in that position during the whole of the subsequent cruise. As soon as the long guns of the Sachem and the Parrott rifle 20-pounder could be brought to bear, the thicket was cleared by discharges of canister and grape, and the fire of the enemy was silenced. No other casualties occurred on board of the steamer, but many of the crew narrowly escaped harm, particularly those who were near the wheel house. The sailing master and the steersman had their clothes pierced by bullets, and the sides and decks of the steamer were similarly marked in many places. The river, becoming still narrower and more crooked above Gainesville, it was found entirely impossible to force the Sachem higher up. Captain Renshaw therefore directed her to be turned down stream. In this manoeuvre, much difficulty was encountered. It succeeded only by cutting the overhanging trees on shore, then backing her into the bank, fastening her stern, and towing her bow around with the boats. While turning thus, one of the Sachem's boats and the Clifton's gig were smashed in the floating logs, and the flagstaff was carried away by hanging branches of the forest. The national ensign, however, was set on the main, and the steamer got finally clear, and stood down the river to rejoin the Westfield and the Clifton. On coming alongside, Mr. Oltmanns was at once transferred, by the kind suggestion of Captain Baldwin, to the Clifton, and being made as comfortable as circumstances admitted, was put under care of Dr. Nestell, the surgeon of the boat. The warm-hearted commander of that vessel will always retain the sincere gratitude of every member of the Coast Survey party for his endeavors in behalf of their brave associate. The doctor probed the wound of Mr. Oltmanns, but was unable to discover the ball, which, by the by, was extracted six months later, by Dr. Lieberman, in Washington City, after it had gradually moved from the breast to the right shoulder blade. Dr. Nestell had no great hopes at the time he took charge of the wounded officer, but thought that with proper care and attention, it might be possible for him to recover. At eight o'clock P. M. the vessels anchored in Lake Borgne, and the next morning, the 16th of May, the whole expedition returned to Ship Island. Captain (now Admiral) Porter visited Mr. Oltmanns, and made suitable arrangements at once for his removal to his friends in New York in the spacious and comfortable steamer Baltic, Captain Comstock.

Between the 16th and 22d of May, the boilers of the Sachem were cleaned, and some repairs made in her machinery, at the end of which time Mr. Gerdes was directed by the commander to repair to the Southwest Pass of the Mississippi, and there to replace the missing buoys and stakes, and to survey the entrance.

Leaving Ship Island on the 22d of May, the Sachem entered the Pass a l'Outre mouth of the Mississippi, and reached Fort Jackson on the 23d in the evening. Here the can buoys and five or six anchors and chains which had been removed by the confederates were found, and brought down and replaced by the Sachem in their original locations at the Southwest Pass. This important inlet of the Mississippi, at present the most accessible and best, was surveyed, a manuscript chart was made by the officers of the Coast Survey, and copies of the same were sent at once to Flag-officer Farragut, Captain Porter, Major-General Butler, and to the Coast Survey office in Washington; at the latter place the chart was lithographed immediately, and extensively distributed in New York and New Orleans.

When Flag-officer Farragut directed Captain Porter to ascend the Mississippi with his mortar flotilla as far up as Vicksburg, the party in the Sachem was again called for. The vessel got under way on the 8th of June, in charge of Acting Assistant Joseph E. Harris, to whom Mr. Gerdes had transferred the command, but unfortunately a few hours after starting she broke her shaft by striking a snag, and was entirely disabled, until extensively repaired. She was towed from Baton Rouge, where the accident happened, to New Orleans, and there turned over to Captain Morris, of the U. S. Navy, commanding the sloop of war Pensacola. The officers and the crew of the Sachem were returned to New York in a U. S. transport steamer. Thus ended the expedition of the Coast Survey party attached in 1862 to the mortar flotilla.

The intercourse and association of the navy officers with the officers of the Coast Survey during the eventful days of the siege of Fort Jackson, the reconnoissance to Mobile, the expedition in Lake Pontchartrain and Pearl river, up to the time the Sachem was disabled from further participation in the operations of that campaign, had cemented warm feelings of attachment and sincere friendship, and it was with a heavy heart the writer of these lines bade farewell to his honored commander and friend of twenty years standing, and to his other associates in the dangers and triumphs of that ever memorable campaign.

Porter now pursues his glorious career as rear admiral of the national navy, and his name has been since, and will be forever identified with Vicksburg, Arkansas Post, Red river, and Grand Gulf. Commanders Richard Wainwright, of the Hartford; Jonathan Wainwright, of the Harriet Lane; W. B. Renshaw, of the Westfield, and Lieutenant Lee, also of the Harriet Lane, have passed away from their friends and associates, consecrating their lives gloriously in our country's cause, but deplored and lamented by their friends. Mr. Oltmanns recovered slowly from his wound, and has served since on topographical duty for the Army of the Potomac. He is now with the Engineer Department of General Banks in Louisiana, where he has proved very useful, and so far eminently successful. Mr. Harris, who is esteemed and appreciated by the officers of the navy and of the Coast Survey, has gone back to his legitimate occupation in the office of the Northwestern Boundary. Messrs. Halter and Bowie remain in the Coast Survey, and are now employed in its duties.



THE CRUEL CARPENTER.

Lay, darling, thy hand on this heart of mine! Ah! hear'st thou that knocking within the shrine? A cruel carpenter dwells there, and he Is busily making a coffin for me!

There's hammering and pounding by day and by night; All sleep from my eyelids he scares in affright: Ah, Master Carpenter, work still more fast, That so I may slumber in peace at last!

—HEINE.



DIARY OF FRANCES KRASINSKA;

OR, LIFE IN POLAND DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

Shrove Tuesday, February 26th.

Our little Matthias says: 'One hundred horsemen despatched after Miss Barbara could never reach her.' She is now her ladyship the starostine. How can I ever describe all the entertainment and pleasure we have had during this festival? I was as much bewildered as charmed, and must endeavor to arrange my ideas, that I may proceed in an orderly manner.

Early yesterday morning we went to the church of Lissow; the bride and groom made their confession, and then took communion at high mass. They knelt before the high altar, and after mass, the parish priest gave them the benediction. I was much pleased when I saw that Barbara wore the pretty morning dress I had made for her: it fits her exactly. But as it was excessively cold, she was obliged to throw over it a white satin pelisse, lined with the fur of the white fox, which somewhat rumpled the morning dress. Her head was charmingly arranged—a white blonde veil hung down to her feet.

Immediately after their return to the castle they breakfasted, and the repast was served with great magnificence.

After breakfast, Barbara went up into her room, where my mother, accompanied by twelve ladies, presided at her toilette. She wore a dress of white satin with watered stripes, and trimmed with Brabant blonde, embroidered with silver. Her dress had a long train. A bunch of rosemary was fastened at her side, and a few sprigs of the same flower were placed in her hair, secured by a gold clasp, on which were engraved verses containing the date and day of the marriage, and various felicitations appropriate to the occasion.

Barbara looked very handsome in this attire, but my mother did not wish her to wear any jewels. She believes that wearing them at such a time is a presage of misfortune, and said: 'She who wears jewels on her wedding day, will weep bitter tears all the rest of her life.' Poor Barbara needed no more, for she had already wept so much that her eyes were all swollen. In the bouquet placed by my mother at Barbara's side were a gold ducat, coined on the day of her birth, a morsel of bread, and a little salt. Such is the customary usage, and it is said that a bride so provided will never lack either of these three articles of the first necessity. Besides these, still another symbolic precaution is taken: a tiny piece of sugar is added, to sweeten the dolors of marriage.

Twelve young girls crowned with flowers, myself among them, preceded Barbara into the saloon. The eldest of our band had just finished her eighteenth year.

The colonel and the Abbe Vincent awaited us near the entrance of the great hall; we were met by the starost with twelve gentlemen. A broad platter, filled with flowers, was borne behind them: each bouquet was composed of rosemary, myrtle, and lemon and orange blossoms, tied up with knots of white ribbon. We young ladies carried gold and silver pins to fasten them on with.

My mother and the old ladies, who presided over the ceremonies, had instructed us in the proper method of conducting ourselves, and in all the forms necessary to be observed, in order that no one might be wounded or offended. We understood their instructions perfectly, but by the time we had fully entered the saloon, all was forgotten.

We began by putting on our bouquets in the most proper and solemn manner, but were soon seized by an irresistible desire to laugh. We committed a thousand follies and blunders, but were readily pardoned; and I cannot say I was surprised at that, for I had already remarked that no one bears malice toward young girls, especially when they are pretty.

Our gayety soon infected all the rest: married people, the old and young, those who had no possible claim to a bouquet, begged one of us, and we gave them with a good grace. In a few moments the whole pyramid of flowers had disappeared; the gold and silver pins were all disposed of, and we were forced to have recourse to ordinary ones; but as it was we who gave them, they were very well received. In short, every one was enchanted, and the hall bloomed like a garden with the flowers scattered around in every direction.

I suddenly perceived that our little Matthias had retired to a corner of the hall, and was looking very sad: he had received no bouquet. As I approached him, he said to me, in a low and sentimental tone of voice:

'All the young ladies have forgotten me, and I am not surprised: but you, Frances, you, whom I have carried in my arms—you, whom I have loved since your infancy—you should not have forgotten me.... Ah! it makes me very sad, for I foresee that even were you to marry the prince royal, I should not be at your wedding.'

I blushed to my very eyes: our poor Matthias was quite right. I ran as fast as I could to my chamber in search of a bouquet, but unfortunately they were every one gone; my mother had distributed them all among the guests. The gardener lives at a considerable distance from the castle, and I did not know what I should do, as I was most anxious Matthias should have his bouquet, apart from all consideration of his prophecy. Suddenly, an excellent idea occurred to me; I divided my own bouquet, tied up the half of it with a white ribbon, and fastened it to his buttonhole by a gold pin, keeping a common one for myself. Matthias was charmed with this proceeding, and said to me:

'Frances, you are better than beautiful; you are an angel of goodness. I am sometimes a prophet: may the desires I entertain for you be all fulfilled! I will carefully preserve this bouquet until your marriage.... What will you be, Frances, when I return it to you?'

How strange! Matthias's words occupied my mind during the whole evening. They rang in my ears, and I could not forget them.... But what an idea! Am I a Barbara Radziwill?[B] Are we still in the times when kings make misalliances?... What folly! I dream, when I should think only of my sister. I will return to the ceremony.

The whole company were assembled in the hall, and kept their eyes fixed upon the door. The two leaves of the folding door were thrown open, and Barbara, supported by two ladies, entered weeping. She trembled as she walked; she seemed almost stifled by her emotion, and could scarcely restrain her sobs. The starost regarded her tenderly, and, approaching her, took her hand to lead her to our parents. They then both knelt to receive the paternal benediction; all present were deeply moved. After having received the blessing, the pair made the circuit of the room, and every one tendered good wishes and congratulations.

Finally they went into the castle chapel, where the Abbe Vincent stood before the altar. The minister Borch, the king's representative, and Kochanowski, son of the castellan, offered their hands to Barbara, while the starost gave his to Miss Malachowska and myself. My parents, the rest of the family, and our guests marched in, two and two. The silence was so profound that the rustling of the silk dresses could be distinctly heard. A great number of wax tapers were burning upon the altar, the steps were covered with a rich carpet, embroidered in gold and silver; two prie-dieus of red velvet, one embroidered with the Krasinski arms, and the other with those of the Swidzinski family, were destined to the use of the bride and groom. All knelt; the ladies to the right and the gentlemen to the left of the altar. I held a golden dish, on which were the two wedding rings. My father and mother stood behind Barbara, and the palatine behind his son.

The Veni Creator was then intoned, after which the Abbe Vincent pronounced a long discourse in Latin, and finally began the marriage ceremony.

Barbara, in spite of her tears and sobs, said quite distinctly: 'I take thee, Michael,' etc. But the starost spoke much louder, and with much more self-possession.

After the rings had been exchanged, the married pair knelt at my parents' feet, and received their blessing.

At a sign from the master of ceremonies, the musicians and Italian singers, brought expressly for the occasion, began to play and sing.

Without, our dragoons fired their muskets and all the cannon. When all was again quiet, and it was possible to hear one's self speak, my father addressed the newly married couple in the following words:

'This union, blessed by Heaven, will serve to the glory of the Eternal, who governs the universe. May your vows, received by God, be the pledge of your happiness! You must watch over it carefully, but the husband's mission is by far the gravest; he becomes the guide and father of his wife. I place full confidence in your virtues and good qualities. As for thee, my child, it is thy duty to be ever grateful toward thy mother for the education she has bestowed upon thee, and the care with which she watched over thy infancy. Remain always virtuous; virtue is a treasure of happiness, the straight path, and a glory surpassing all the goods of the earth. Be ever prudent and discreet in thy words, modest and amiable in thy actions, and never cease to render thanks to God. Love and obey thy husband as thou hast always loved and obeyed thy parents; fly all evil, be steadfast in self-government, and resigned to all the sorrows thou must meet with in this world. Take thy religion for thy constant guide, and may God bless thee, as I do at this solemn moment!'

At these last words, Barbara again began to weep; her voice was so changed that no one could hear what she replied to my father; she fell at our parents' feet.

Then came congratulations from all sides. The Abbe Vincent, after sprinkling all the spectators with holy water, presented the paten to the wife of the king's pantler, Jordan, that she might kiss it. This was a great mistake, an incomprehensible forgetfulness of the rights of precedence: he should have offered it first to the Castellane Kochanowska, mother of the prince royal's representative. My mother, who fortunately perceived the error, repaired it by begging the castellane to take precedence of the Palatiness Granowska in reconducting the starost. Barbara walked between the king's representative and the Palatine Malachowski. In this order we reentered the great hall, and soon after, dinner was announced.

The table was very large, and in the form of the letter B. The service was magnificent; in the centre stood a sugar pyramid four feet high; a French cook had been at work upon it for two weeks; it represented the temple of Hymen, adorned with allegorical figures, and surmounted by the united arms of Krasinski and Swidzinski, encircled by French inscriptions. There were, besides, quantities of other fancy articles: porcelain figures, gold and silver baskets, etc.; indeed, the table was so crowded that our dwarf Peter might have tried in vain to make his way among the various dishes and ornaments. I could not count the number of dishes, and the butler, I am sure, might try in vain to tell the number of bottles of wine which were drunk. It may perhaps give some faint idea to say that a whole tun of Hungarian wine was emptied during the repast: it was called 'Miss Barbara's wine.' My father bought it the day of Barbara's birth, that it might be drunk at her marriage, in accordance with the old Polish custom. Each of us has her tun of wine, and our butler tells me that when mine has remained two years longer in the cellar it will be perfect.

The toasts were innumerable; all drank to the newly married pair, to the republic, the king, the Duke of Courland, the prince primate, the clergy, the master and mistress of the house, and the ladies. After each toast, the bottles were broken, the cannon fired, and the trumpets sounded.

At the end of the dessert, a perfect calm succeeded to all this noise: we thought my father was about to give the signal for rising from the table, but we were mistaken. He called the steward, and said a few words to him; the latter left the room, but soon returned, bringing a black morocco case, which I had never seen before. My father opened it, and drew forth a cup enriched with precious stones; it was in the form of a raven; he showed it to all the guests, and said it had descended to him by hereditary succession from the ancient Roman family of the Corvini, and that he had never touched it since his own wedding day. He then took from the butler's hand a large bottle covered with a venerable dust, bespeaking great age. He told us, not without a certain pride, that this wine was a hundred years old; he emptied all the contents into the cup, leaving not a single drop, but as the goblet was not yet full, he poured more of the same wine into it from another bottle, and finally drank it off to the prosperity of the married pair. The toast was enthusiastically received; the music again began to play and the cannon to thunder. The cup went the rounds of the table, and its virtue was such, that a hundred bottles of old wine were emptied before it had made the entire circuit. After this crowning honor, each left the table as best he could.

Night had already set in. The ladies went up into their rooms to change their dress, but the bride and the young ladies attending upon her remained as they were. Toward seven o'clock, when the fumes of the wine were somewhat dissipated, all began to think of dancing, and the king's representative opened the ball with Barbara. At first only Polonaises, minuets, and quadrilles were danced, but as the guests became more excited, they ventured upon Mazurkas and Cracoviennes. Kochanowski dances the Cracovienne to perfection. According to the ancient usage, the leader sings stanzas, which are repeated by the others. He improvised one at the moment he began to dance with Barbara; as nearly as I can remember, it ran as follows:

'Neither king nor palatine to-day would I be, The fortune of the starost only give to me; For he has truly merited the fair, The lovely lady, sweet beyond compare.'

The ball and the toasts, which had been recommenced, as if none had been offered before, were suddenly arrested, and a chair was placed in the middle of the hall. The bride took her seat upon it, the twelve young ladies began to loosen her headdress, singing in lamentable tones:

'Ah! Barbara, farewell, We have lost thee!'

My mother took off her garland, and Madame Malachowska placed a laced cap in its stead. I should have laughed heartily at this change, if Barbara had not been all in tears: however, the cap became her wonderfully well, and every one repeated that her husband would love her dearly, very dearly. I am sure I do not doubt it: who could help loving such a good, sweet young creature?

The ceremony of the cap ended, all began again to dance, and through respect for the custom introduced by the new court, the bride danced the drabant with the king's representative, after which the orchestra played a grave Polonaise. The Palatine Swidzinski offered his hand to the bride, and she danced in turn with all the gentlemen present. As the Polonaise is rather a promenade than a dance, it suits all ages; my father made once the tour of the hall with Barbara, and then gave her back to the starost, as was most proper. The Polonaise ended the ball, and my mother sent us all off to sleep.

... I slept well, and indeed I needed rest; but I do not feel very much tired this morning. Heavens! how happy I was yesterday! I danced oftener with the prince's representative than with any one else; he is so agreeable and converses so charmingly! That is not astonishing, for he has been to Paris and Luneville; in fact, it is only a year since he returned. He was then immediately attached to the person of the prince, whom he praises highly. Indeed, if his master be more gallant than he is, he must be something really ideal.

I am very glad that the festival will be continued this evening; but we must begin to dance early, for on Shrove Tuesday we cannot dance after midnight.

I have not yet seen Barbara—I should say her ladyship the starostine, for my parents desire we should so call her. Her absence puts me completely out of my reckoning, but I have fallen heir to her bed and work table. I have finally all the honors due to the eldest. I am no longer Frances, still less Fanny; I am the young starostine.... Indeed, I needed some consolation.

Wednesday, February 27th.

To-day is Ash Wednesday, and we must languish a whole year before another carnival comes round.

Our guests already begin to leave us. His majesty's representative departed yesterday, and the married pair will go day after to-morrow. We will accompany them to Sulgostow. The starost can invite no strangers, as all amusements are forbidden during Lent; an exception has been made in favor of Kochanowski, the castellan's son. He earnestly solicited this favor, and the starost could not refuse him, as he was his comrade at college.

I am enchanted with the prospect of the little journey we are to make. I shall see my good sister's palace and domains. I cannot become accustomed to say her ladyship the starostine, when I speak of Barbara, but I know I ought to follow the example of my parents, who call her nothing else.

Barbara has become very grave since her marriage; she wears dresses with long trains; she looks to me several years older in her grand robes, and still seems quite sad, but that is easily understood, as she is about to quit her father's and mother's home; and then, the idea of being entirely alone with a person she scarcely knows must distress her.

She is so timid with the starost that no one would think he was her husband; but he is not in the least timid: he calls her my wife, approaches her often, and talks much more to her than he ever did to our parents.

Saturday, March 9th.

We returned yesterday from Sulgostow: I amused myself exceedingly while there, but it is a real sorrow not to be able to bring her ladyship the starostine back with us. How time flies! A week has already elapsed since she left the castle!

Last Friday, when all our guests had departed, Barbara rose early, and went to the parish church at Lissow; she made an offering of a golden heart to the chapel which contains the image of her patron saint, and then bade the good priest adieu. When she returned to the castle, she took leave of all the courtiers and attendants; then went down to the farm, and distributed all the little articles which had belonged to her domestic establishment as a young lady. She gave away her cows, geese, and chickens to a poor peasant of Maleszow, who had just been burned out of house and home; she kept only two crested hens and her swans, which she will take with her to Sulgostow. She gave me her birds and flowers.

After this distribution of her little property, she expressed a desire to go once more all over the castle; she visited all the rooms on every story, and remained long in the chapel and in our own apartment. We had scarcely finished our breakfast, when the cracking of whips was heard, and a chamberlain entered to announce that the carriages were ready. The starost went to Barbara and told her it was time to go. Her heart swelled at these words, and tears streamed from her eyes; she threw herself at our parents' feet to thank them for all their kindness, for the care they had bestowed upon her, and the happiness she had enjoyed during eighteen years. She added:

'All I can desire in the future, is to be as happy as I have been until the present day.'

For the first time in my life I saw my father weep. Ah! what tender blessings our poor Barbara received!... All who were present at this scene were deeply moved.

When we reached the drawbridge, the captain of our dragoons opposed our passage, and told the starost he would not suffer him to proceed until he had received some pledge as a promise that he would at some future day bring Barbara back to the castle. The starost gave him a beautiful diamond ring.

During this colloquy I had leisure to examine the starost's equipages. They are truly magnificent: the first one had two seats, was yellow, and lined with red cloth; next came a fine landau, then a barouche, and several britschkas. The horses belonged to the finest breeds. To the yellow carriage, intended for the married pair, were harnessed six noble animals, white and gray. The various members of the suite followed in the other vehicles, and we (young ladies) brought up the rear.

Her ladyship the starostine wept aloud, and we heard her sobs distinctly; they almost broke my heart.

The courtiers, chamberlains, and even the peasants, accompanied us quite a considerable distance. Barbara threw them all the money she had about her, and the starost displayed an unheard-of generosity; he gave to every one, beginning with the steward and ending with the lowest servant in the castle.

Wherever we stopped to rest our horses, or to pass the night, we found the attendance admirable. The starost gave his orders, and the tables were covered as if by magic. The Jews, who keep most of the inns upon the high road, turned everything out of doors, even their children and goods, to make room for us.

Shortly before arriving at Sulgostow, we met the palatine and the Abbe Vincent, who had preceded us in order to receive the young couple.

The peasants, led by the starost's steward, met us at the frontier of the Sulgostow estate. The eldest member of the peasantry made a speech, at the conclusion of which all cried aloud: 'May the bride and groom live a hundred years!'

As we entered the palace courtyard, a company of hussars discharged their muskets, and the captain presented arms. The palatine, with his nephew and all his court, received us at the first gate; loud acclamations arose from every quarter.

The starost presented her ladyship the starostine with an enormous bunch of keys, and the following day she assumed the reins of government. She gave her orders and directions in a manner that made it a pleasure to hear her; it is true that she had been instructed from her infancy by our mother in all the details of housekeeping.

Sulgostow is situated differently from our castle of Maleszow; the two mansions possess few points of resemblance. The former is a palace, and the latter a castle.

Sulgostow is gay and splendid; luxury abounds on all sides, and grandeur appears in the least details. The court is numerous, and the table excellent; but that which is of more importance is the eagerness to oblige, and the attention shown by every one toward my sister. I foresee that she will soon forget our castle.

I tasted several excellent new dishes at Sulgostow, and for the first time in my life drank coffee. My parents do not like it; they say it is unwholesome for young persons, especially for young girls, as it heats the blood and makes the skin yellow. But I believe they will one day lay aside this prejudice. It is not long since coffee was first introduced into Poland, and people must become accustomed to it gradually. As for me, I drank plenty of it at Sulgostow; the starost is very fond of this beverage, and obtained from my parents permission for me to drink a small cup every day.

Apropos to coffee, we all laughed heartily one day when some one recalled the verses of the poetess Druzbacka. Speaking of a bride just arrived at her husband's castle, she says: 'She could not find even three little grains of coffee; but he gave her instead a great soup plate, filled with soup made of beer and cheese.'

Certainly, the new starostine has no such complaint to make.

I was very sorry to leave the starost's palace so soon. Mr. Kochanowski, the castellan's son, is very lively, and amused us exceedingly; when we drove out, he always rode on horse back near our carriage door.

Her ladyship, the starostine, sobbed bitterly when we parted from her. I too felt very sad, and feel still more so now that we have returned to Maleszow; I fear this melancholy will not soon pass away.

Tuesday, March 12th.

I foresaw that my sister would take all my gayety away with her. The castle seems deserted, and all pleasure has vanished with our dear Barbara.... My parents are also very sad: Barbara, being the eldest, was much more with them than we were, and rendered them a thousand services. I try to fill her place, but I am very awkward in lighting my father's pipe, and in choosing the silks for my mother's embroidery. With time and the help of God I hope to become more skilful, but I can never equal Barbara (I must call her so for this once). I have plenty of good will, but notwithstanding that, forget many things, while my sister never forgot anything: the whole court speak of her in the most affectionate and exalted terms.

My parents sent a chamberlain to Sulgostow to-day, to inquire for her ladyship the starostine. All the chamberlains covet the honor of bearing the message. Michael Chronowski, who leaves to-morrow for Opole, really regrets his ancient condition.

The castle becomes daily more melancholy; the castellan's son has gone, and, during the last three days, the only visitors we have had were some travelling friars and a gentleman of our neighborhood, who brought his young wife to introduce to our parents. This gentleman formerly belonged to our court, and he seemed to me very well bred.

'My heart,' said he to his wife (who had not spoken two words), 'if I am a good husband and father, you must thank, first the starost, and then the steward; the former never spared his reprimands, nor the latter his leathern strap.'

I was charmed with this naivete; and my father made him some very handsome presents.

Such have been our sole visitors, and everything is sad and dull, as it always is after so much joy and merriment. However, I should not omit one occurrence which made me laugh like a crazy girl. After the wedding, my mother distributed Barbara's wardrobe among the young ladies of the suite and the waiting women: during our absence, each one made a dress, a spencer, or a mantle for herself out of her share of the spoils, and on Sunday all presented themselves tricked out in their new clothes. Whichever way we turned our eyes, we saw the fragments of Barbara's wardrobe. Our little Matthias was the first to observe it: he pretended to sigh, and when asked what troubled him, replied:

'My heart aches when I behold this pillage of all that pertained to the late Miss Barbara.'

Every one began to laugh, but Theckla and I louder than the others, and indeed so loudly, that my father reproved us by repeating the old proverb: 'At table as at church.' Our little Matthias is so droll! How could any one help laughing?

Wednesday, March 13th.

An event took place yesterday which should certainly find a place in my journal. When, according to our custom, I went down to our parents' apartments with madame and my sisters, I found Kochanowski, son of the castellan, talking with my father in one of the window recesses; their conversation was so animated that they did not perceive our entrance. I could not hear what they said, but the last words uttered by my father caught my ear: 'Sir, you shall soon have my decisive answer.'

He then said something in a low tone to my mother, who sent for the steward, and gave a whispered order; soon after, dinner was announced. Mr. Kochanowski was seated opposite to me; I could not help remarking the especial care he had bestowed upon his toilet. He wore an embroidered velvet coat, a white satin waistcoat, a frilled shirt, and lace sleeves; his hair was frizzed, curled, and pomatumed: in short, everything indicated some peculiar motive for attention to his dress. His manners harmonized with his appearance: he spoke much, seemed excited, was continually mingling French words in his discourse, and was twice as witty as usual: all this became him well, and diverted me exceedingly.

Dinner was unusually long, and we were obliged to wait some time for the roast meat. I had abundance of leisure to observe that the castellan's son, although he talked and smiled unceasingly, was by no means at his ease; he became pale and red by turns. The doors were finally opened, and the servants entered with the dishes. Kochanowski grew pale as a sheet; not knowing to what to attribute his emotion, I looked round me on all sides, and my eyes fell at length upon the dishes which had just been brought in. I saw a goose dressed with a certain black sauce (jusznik), which among us signifies a refusal.

I did not dare to raise my eyes, a thousand fancies floated through my brain; I remembered the Cracoviennes, the Mazurkas, the minuets, in which Kochanowski had displayed so much grace; then his graceful appearance on horseback, the French with which he so plentifully sprinkled his conversation, and his never-failing compliments.... A feeling of melancholy seized upon my heart, I lost courage, and could not touch a single dish. My parents were as much affected as myself; if the gray end had not helped to finish out the dinner, it would have been sent away untouched.

It seemed to me that we were ages at table; I was impatient to know the end. My father finally gave the signal, and we rose, but while we were each saying the after-dinner grace, Mr. Kochanowski slipped out at a small side door, and did not again make his appearance.

When the courtiers and chamberlains had retired, my parents desired me to leave my work and come to them: my father said:

'Frances, Mr. Kochanowski, son of the Castellan of Radom, has asked your hand of me. I am aware that his family is ancient and illustrious. I know that he has a fine fortune, by no means disproportioned to your own, but this alliance does not exactly please us. In the first place, Mr. Kochanowski is too young; his only distinction is derived from the title held by his late father; he has received no honors at court, or rather the favor shown him has conferred no very illustrious rank upon him: finally, I think he has made rather too abrupt a declaration, and he exacts an immediate and decisive reply. We have given him our answer, and it is in accordance with his own mode of proceeding. We are sure, Fanny, that you will approve of what we have done.'

He then desired me to recommence my work, thus giving me no time to say either yes or no.

I doubtless share the opinion of my parents; but as I have promised to be entirely frank in my journal, frank without any reserve, I must confess that neither Kochanowski's age nor the manner in which he made his offer, appear to me sufficient objections. The true motive of the refusal he has received is that he has no title, and, as our little Matthias says, a vice-castellan is not much: a castellan would indeed be something worth considering. God reads to the bottom of my soul, and I am sure I have no desire to marry; I am so well satisfied, so entirely happy in my father's house. I was melancholy during several days after I returned from Sulgostow, but I have now completely recovered my ancient gayety.

My position is very different from what it formerly was, and I am treated with more respect; when there are no strangers at table, I am served the fourth.

I will accompany my parents wherever they go. I should be sorry to abandon such dear and sweet prerogatives. Besides, marriage is not so fine a thing as many deem it; a woman's career is then ended; once married, all is fixed and decided for life; no more changes, no more doubts, no more hopes of something still better. One knows what one must be, one knows what one will be until the hour of one's death, and for my part, I like to indulge in the freest range of fancy.

A whole oxhide would not be large enough to contain all the dreams that float through my brain. When I am seated at my work, my mind is more active than my fingers: it is so delightful to dream, to revel in a future of one's own creation, bright as an excitable imagination can make it.... My mother says to me often, but I fear in vain: 'A well born and properly educated young lady should never think of her future husband;' but, in truth, it is not of a husband that I think; it is of a thousand things, of memories, of hopes, and of descriptions, adventures, etc., which I meet with in my reading, and which I involuntarily apply to myself. If my fate were to be like that of Mademoiselle Scudery's, or Madame Lafayette's, or Madame de Beaumont's heroines! I can picture all the situations so vividly that I really believe all these adventures will happen to me. I must confess that Barbara's marriage has much more inclined me to revery. She blamed such wanderings of the fancy, and always hindered my reading romances; but to make up for lost time, madame makes me read a great deal, and the more I read, the more does my imagination lose itself in vague dreams.

Barbara possessed an entirely different character; she has assured me that she never thought of her future life, or of the husband she was to have; and if this latter idea ever crossed her mind, it was only when she said her prayers. I must here say that, according to our mother's desire, after we have reached our sixteenth year, we always add these words to our prayers: 'My God, give me wisdom, good health, the love of my neighbor, and a good husband.' This was the only moment during the day that Barbara's thoughts ever rested upon her future lord: 'And it should be so,' she used to say; 'since one day he must replace our father and mother, and we must love and obey him until our death.' Beyond this she felt no anxiety as to what he would be or when he would come.

Notwithstanding her indifference, she has succeeded perfectly; her husband is one of the most upright and excellent of men; she writes to us that after she has somewhat overcome her grief at the separation from her family, there can be no happier woman in the world than she is. One may plainly see that she loves the starost more and more every day, and that she is entirely satisfied with her lot. But I ... who can tell what may be in store for me?... Indeed, my parents have done well to refuse Mr. Kochanowski; I pity him, however, for the humiliation which he has received; but if I am to believe the prophecy of our little Matthias, he will soon be consoled.

Sunday, March 17th.

Yesterday, just as we were sitting down to supper, we had a visit from my aunt, the Princess Palatiness of Lublin, and her husband, the palatine. It was a delightful surprise: not having been able to come to my sister's marriage, occupied as they were by their duty toward the prince royal, who was preparing to depart for his duchy of Courland, they came to atone for their omission, and felicitate my parents on their daughter's marriage. The arrival of these illustrious guests has restored life to the castle; my father cannot restrain his joy or do enough to show honor to the princess, whom he loves and respects from the depths of his heart.

Five years have elapsed since the prince and princess were last at Maleszow; I was then a child, and they find me now a young lady; their compliments are endless. They praise my beauty, my figure, etc., until I am overwhelmed with confusion; such praises are very agreeable, but then one should hear them accidentally; when they are thrown in one's face they lose their value, they annoy and embarrass one; I am consequently better pleased to remember them to-day than I was to hear them yesterday. The prince palatine said very seriously, that if I were to show myself at the court of Warsaw, the young starostine Wessel, Madame Potocka, and the princess Sapieha (the three chief court beauties) would be eclipsed. My aunt, the princess, remarked that I still needed more gravity in my demeanor, and more dignity in my carriage.

Never in my life had I heard such flattering speeches, and indeed I had no idea that I could make any pretension to so much beauty. I saw that my father's heart was swelling with pride; but my mother, fearing lest so much flattery should render me vain, sent for me this morning, and told me all this was nothing but a mode of speech common to courts, and that I must not regard it as anything more important.

I do not know, but it seems to me they have some designs upon me. Oh! how I would like to know them! I did not close my eyes during the whole night.... The prince and princess related such curious and interesting things!

My mother desired me to retire as usual at ten o'clock, but the prince palatine begged it as a favor that I might be permitted to remain until quite late with the company.

It appears that the rejoicings upon the occasion of the prince royal's investiture were truly magnificent; no one can remember to have ever witnessed so brilliant and gay a carnival. All the colleges represented tragedies and comedies, and everywhere allusions were made to the prince royal, who seems to be adored.

On the Monday preceding Ash Wednesday (Barbara's wedding day) the collegians, under the care of the Jesuit fathers, represented the tragedy of 'Antigone,' in which the celebrated warrior, Demetrius, defends his father against his enemies, and restores his estates to him. At the end of the piece the following lines were recited, and received with the greatest applause:

'Not only 'mid the Greeks were faithful sons; Demetrius in our own times finds his peers. In thee, O Charles the Great, may we behold Sublime example and heroic deeds. For thou against injustice hast thy sire Defended; thy dear sire, whose virtues rare Efface the memories left by antique Greece. Be thou the father of thy country! Reign! Reign over us! Thy people all wilt love thee With the love of a Demetrius.'

One may see from this that the prince royal has devoted partisans; an interior conviction assures me that he will one day be king of Poland. I was deeply interested in the praise which the prince palatine bestowed upon him: if I am not mistaken, the hero of my dreams will one day be a great man; but I may be deceived in my previsions, or they may be rendered vain by the power of intrigue.

I judge of the generality by the diversity of opinion existing within our own little circle. The views of the princess palatine differ from those of her husband. She desires to see neither the prince royal nor Poniatowski king of the republic, but carries her wishes still elsewhere.... To whose prayers will God listen?

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote B: A beautiful Polish lady, who was secretly married to the Prince Sigismund Augustus, afterward King of Poland. When he ascended the throne, at his father's death, he acknowledged his marriage, and Barbara reigned as queen until the year 1561, when she died, to the great sorrow of her husband and her people, to whom she had proved herself a real mother.—Translator's note.]



THE ISLE OF SPRINGS.

CHAPTER I.

VOYAGE AND APPROACH.

On the 22d of November, 1855, a small company of us—three gentlemen and two ladies—left New York harbor in the schooner Louisa Dyer, of 150 tons burden, bound to the island of Jamaica. By nightfall we had lost sight of the last faint trace of New Jersey soil. New Jersey is sometimes jocularly said to be out of the Union; but on that day the two of us who were leaving our native land for the first time, entertained no doubt of its solidarity with that country of which it afforded us the last glimpse. By morning we found our small and incommodious vessel fairly on her way through the stormy November Atlantic, toiling painfully over the broad convexity of the planet, like a plodding insect, toward the regions of the sun. After a voyage of fifteen days, wrestling with all manner of baffling winds, and with storms attended, I suppose, with some danger, though, from a happy incapacity of apprehending peril at sea till it is over, I suffered no disquiet from them, we came in sight of the two inlets which form the Turk's Island passage. A winter voyage, however unpleasant, has this advantage, that then only can you be sure of meeting with such a succession of storms as shall leave settled in the memory the sullen sublimity of that 'changing, restless mound' of disturbed ocean in which is embodied the mass of its gloomy might.

Very pleasant was it to us, nevertheless, when the softening airs and the steady set of the breeze showed us that we had come into the latitude of the trade winds. The inky blackness of the sea had gradually turned into translucent and then into transparent azure, which looked as if it could be quarried out into blocks of pure blue crystal. The flying fish, glancing in quick, short flights above the sunny waters, now gave the charm of happy, graceful life to our weary voyage out of the tempestuous north. And when at last we saw land, although it appeared only in the shape of the two small islands mentioned above, which seem to be little more than coral reefs covered with a scanty carpet of yellowish grass, yet the few distant cocoanut trees upon them threw even over their barrenness that tropical charm which to those who first feel it seems rather to belong to another planet than to this dull one upon which we were born.

Passing through the narrow channel between the two islands which formed thus the portal of our entrance into the Caribbean, we found ourselves fairly afloat upon the waters of that brilliant sea, which the Spaniards, three centuries and a half before, had traversed with greater astonishment, but not with more delight. Everything now conspired to raise our spirits. The soft air, reminding us by contrast of the winter we had left behind, the deep blue sky, answered by waves of an intenser blue below, whose gentle ripples, unlike the stormy Atlantic surges which we had escaped, only came up to bear us kindly on, and the knowledge that we were but two days' sail from the fair island to which some were returning, and which two of us were about to make our home for an indefinite future, all made us now a very different set from the dull, anxious, seasick group that the Atlantic had lately been boxing about at his pleasure.

Before making Jamaica, however, we came in sight of the negro empire of Hayti, and ran along for a day under its northern coast.

We saw swelling hills, covered on their tops with woods, and sloping down to the shore, but were too far distant to distinguish very plainly any sign of human habitation. By nightfall we had sunk the land, but were astonished in the morning to see looming through the air, at an immense distance, a mountain, which in height seemed more like one of the Andes than any summit that Hayti could afford. Its actual height, I presume, may not have been less than 8,000 feet, but in my memory it shows like Chimborazo.

It was now Saturday, the 8th of December. We held our way westward across the hundred miles of sea that separate Hayti from Jamaica. All eyes were now turned to discover the first glimpse of our expected island home. At last, about the middle of the afternoon, we remarked on the western horizon the distant blot of indigo that showed us where it lay. Another twenty-four hours would pass before we should land, but that distant patch of mountain blue seemed to have brought us to land already. Heavy rain clouds coming up, hid it from us again, but gave ample compensation in the sunset that followed, one of the two grand sunsets of my life. The other was in Andover, Mass., which, is justly celebrated for the beauty of its sunsets. There the banks of white cloud, lying along the west, glowed with an inner radiance, that led the eye and the mind back into the very depths of heaven. Here, on the other hand, an unimaginable wealth of color was poured out on the very face of the sky. The whole western heaven, to the zenith, was one mingled melting mass of gorgeous dyes, rendered the more magnificent by the heavy lead-colored rain clouds which occupied all the rest of the sky.

The inward, spiritual magnificence of that northern sunset, and the unreserved splendor of this southern one, were in correspondence with the different tone which runs throughout nature in each of the two regions.

After sunset hues and rain cloud had both given way to the brilliant night sky of that latitude, we seated ourselves, seven in number, captain and mate included, on the extensive quarter deck of not less than seven feet from cabin house to stern bulwarks, for a final game of 'Twenty Questions;' when our hitherto so amiable friend, the Caribbean, suddenly flung a spiteful wave right over the quarter upon us, and put a very unexpected extinguisher on our pastime. The ladies, who were reclining on the deck, came in for the chief share of the compliment, and were in some danger of an indiscriminate swash down the cabin gangway; but the mate gallantly picked up one, and her husband the other, and saved them from all mischief but the drenching. This sudden interruption of amicable relations with the powers of the wave was followed up by a night of unmerciful rocking, to which, as we had now come under the lee of the land, was added a sweltering heat. I can stand as much heat as any man, but for once I found the cabin too much of a blackhole even for me, and after tossing most of the night in alternate correspondence and contradiction to the pitching of the vessel, I got up and went on deck, to see if a nap were any more feasible there. I found most of our company already recumbent in this starry bedchamber. After awhile admiring the unaccustomed brilliancy of the old familiar constellations of our northern sky, augmented by the effulgent host which our approach to the equator had brought into view, among all which Venus shone like a young moon, I fell asleep also, and we slumbered in concert, until awakened by the streaks of dawn. Soon the sun rose with a serene magnificence, well according with the day of holy rest and cheerful expectation which lay before us. The white haze upon the sky rolled away from the blue, and gathered itself into fleecy masses, which stood like pillars around the seaward horizon, brightening with a cheerful tempered light, until, as the sun grew higher, they dissolved away. Meanwhile, on the landward side of our vessel—which had rounded Morant Point in the night, and was now gliding smoothly on—lay in near view the mountains of Jamaica. Coming from the southeast quarter of the island, we were passing under them where they are highest. They rose, seemingly almost from the water's edge, to the height of seven and eight thousand feet, their towering masses broken into gigantic wrinkles and corrugations, whose fantastic unevenness was subdued into harmony by the softening veil of yellowish green darkening above, which clothed them to their tops. Between their base and the sea actually lies one of the most richly cultivated districts of the island, the Plaintain Garden River district. But we were too far out to distinguish much of it; and what little we did see is in my memory absorbed in the image of the verdant giants which rose behind.

In the forenoon our pilot came on board, a comfortable, self-possessed black man, who toward sunset brought us off the Palisades. This is the name of the narrow spit of land which forms the outer wall of the magnificent harbor of Kingston. Upon it is situated the naval station of Port Royal, the principal rendezvous of the British fleet in the West Indies. Here is that exquisitely comfortable naval hospital, with its long ranges of green jalousies, excluding the blazing light and admitting the sea breeze, in which the officers and crew of our ship Susquehanna were cared for with such generous hospitality a few years ago, when attacked by yellow fever. The heartburnings of the present may be somewhat lessened by reflecting on some of these mutual offices of kindness in the past.

Around the naval station clusters a poor village of perhaps fifteen hundred souls, the miserable remnant of the once splendid city of Port Royal, whose sudden fate I shall relate hereafter.

We rounded the point of the Palisades—which is marked by some unfortunate cocoanut trees, which, having vainly struggled with the sea breeze to maintain the elegant stateliness of their race, have long since given up the contest, and resigned themselves to being stunted and broken into the appearance of magnified splint brooms planted upside down—and found ourselves at last in our desired haven, Kingston harbor. It is a broad and sheltered basin, fully entitled, I understand, to the standard encomium of a harbor of the first rank, namely, that it will float the united navies of the world. Due provision has been made by three strong forts near the entrance that the navies aforesaid shall not enter until the time of such auspicious union. An intelligent correspondent of the Herald states his opinion that no ship and no number of ships could force an entrance under the converging fire of the forts, which bears upon the channel at a point where the least divergence would land a ship upon a dangerous shoal.

Kingston is on the inside of the harbor, six miles across from Port Royal. The city itself lies low, but as we approached it, just as the sun had set, the mountains which rise behind it, a few miles distant, to the height of three and five thousand feet, appeared to close around it in a sublime amphitheatre of massive verdure. High up on the side of the mountains we distinguished a white speck, which we were told was the military cantonment of Newcastle, situated 4,400 feet above the sea, chosen for the English soldiers on account of its salubrity. Formerly the annual mortality among European soldiers in the island was 130 in 1,000, but since the Government has been careful to quarter them as much as possible in these elevated sites, it has diminished to 34 in 1,000.

At last our vessel came to anchor at the wharf. We took a kind leave of the pleasant-tempered captain and crew, who had been shut up with us in the little craft during our seventeen days' tossing, and gave a farewell of especial warmth to the fatherly mate, whose rough exterior covered the warm heart of a seaman and the delicate feelings of a native gentleman.

When we landed, the short tropical twilight was fast fading into night, but light enough remained to show us into what a new world we had come. The gloomy, prisonlike warehouses, the long rows of verandas before the dwellings, the dusky throngs in the streets, the unintelligible patois that came to our ears on every side, occasional glimpses of strange vegetation, and, above all, the overpowering heat in December, all gave us to feel that we were at last in that tropical world, every aspect of which is so unlike our northern life.

After a hospitable reception from Mr. Whitehorne, the principal of the Nuco Institute, I went up to the rooms of the American Mission, and, ensconcing myself behind the mosquito curtains, proceeded to make critical observations upon the buzzings outside, to satisfy myself whether an insular range fed up these tormentors to the formidable vigor of their continental brethren. Concluding from their timid pipings that they were by no means an enemy so much to be dreaded—a conclusion which subsequent experience happily confirmed—I fell asleep.

CHAPTER II.

KINGSTON.

Having satisfied myself, by a sound night's rest, that the laws of my physical constitution had undergone no essential revolution by a change to the torrid zone, I began in the morning to look curiously around to note what the differences might be in the outer world. The quaint old lodging house itself first drew my attention, with its thick walls and heavy brick arches on the ground floor, built to guard against earthquakes, of which few years pass without several shocks, though none especially memorable have taken place since the dreadful one of 1692. Cracks in the walls here and there, however, show that it is not useless to make provision against them.

While I was seated at a most comfortable breakfast of bread and butter and the excellent fish which abound in Kingston harbor, flanked by huge oranges of enticing sweetness, a shrivelled old negro woman, who was on her knees giving the uncarpeted floor its morning application of wax, and rubbing it into a polish with a cocoanut shell, suddenly rose to her feet and kissed her hand to me with a grace worthy of a duchess. Somewhat startled at this unexpected salutation from the fairer, or the softer sex—I am in some doubt as to the proper adjective in this case—I gazed rather blankly at her without replying; but she dropped on her knees again and went on with her work, satisfied doubtless that she at least knew the proprieties. It is this submissive respectfulness of the blacks that makes it pleasant living among them, notwithstanding all their faults and vices. At home we are no better than our neighbors, but here, if we only have a white complexion, we belong to the undisputed aristocracy, and carry our credentials in our faces. It is that which has bewitched so many Northern people living at the South with slavery. But what is wanted is not a community of slaves, but only a community of blacks.

After fortifying myself against the sweltering heat of the December morning by copious draughts from the unglazed earthen coolers, which look so refreshing in this climate that you often see their coarse red pottery on handsomely laid tables, looking quite as well entitled to a place as anything else, I sallied out to see what daylight would show in the chief city of Jamaica, a city of nearly 30,000 people. I must say that for appearance' sake the best thing for Kingston would be to have perpetual moonlight. Under the flood of silver light which the full moon here pours down, even its forlorn shabbiness is softened into something of romantic indistinctness. But daylight is dreadfully disenchanting. The rows of tumble-down houses, the sandy, unpaved streets—through which you flounder as in the deserts of Sahara, unless you choose to try sidewalks that have as many ups and downs as a range of mountains, each man building to the height that pleases himself—the large parade, without armament or shade, a dreary common of sand, the crowds of noisy, slouching, dirty negroes, the burnt districts, filled with the rubbish of houses and with unwholesome vegetation growing up, do not combine to form a very engaging whole. One would think it impossible to exaggerate such a picture of comfortless neglect. Yet bad as it is in itself, Mr. Sewell has mercilessly exaggerated it. One would think from his description that there was not a decent house in the place, and that he had never seen the rows of excellent dwellings on North street and East street. Then he speaks of the inhabitants as being, 'taken en masse, steeped to the eyelids in immorality.'

Now, if he meant that the great numerical majority of the inhabitants bear this character, he spoke truly, inasmuch as the great numerical majority of the inhabitants are negroes, among the most depraved in the island. Kingston is like the slough of Despond, a place whither all the scum and filth of the negro population in the east end of the island do continually run, and make it a very sink of wickedness. But are the white families and the large number of thoroughly respectable colored families to be confounded with this mass of negro depravity, because they are fewer in number? It is true they are fewer in number, but they are so thoroughly distinct in standing and character that Mr. Sewell is justly chargeable with cruel recklessness in confounding them together as he does. It may concern the world little to distinguish among the people of Kingston, but it does very vitally concern the morality of authorship, that a traveller should not, by a careless and sweeping sentence, leave a cruel sting in the minds of hundreds of refined and virtuous women.

But I cannot vindicate Kingston society against the charge of surpassing dulness. In an insular colony, under the enervating influence of a tropical climate, the pulse of intellectual life beats very faintly, at its strongest. Still, if whatever of education and refinement there is in Kingston would cordially combine it might make a pleasant society. But it is divided into little cliques, each mortally afraid of the rest, and producing, in their division, a paradise of tediousness.

Kingston, however, resembles New York in one important particular—it is one of the worst-governed cities in Christendom. The Jews and the mulattoes divide municipal honors between them, and rival, not unworthily on a small scale, the united talents of Mozart and Tammany for misgovernment and jobbery.

The stores of Kingston are well supplied with excellent English goods at reasonable prices, and are served by numbers of fresh and fine-looking British clerks. But of these much the greater number, I fear, fall under the temptations of the prevailing immorality, and habits of drinking, not to be indulged with impunity in such a climate, hurry multitudes of them to speedy graves. What little sobriety and desire of improvement exists among the young men is chiefly confined, I am told, to the browns.

With the decline of exportations, the once flourishing trade of Kingston has, of course, decreased. But it marks the eagerness of some to turn everything to the discredit of emancipation, that this decline is commonly attributed entirely to that event, no notice being taken of the fact that Kingston was once the entrepot of a flourishing trade between Europe and the Spanish Main, which, having, in 1816, shipping to the amount of 199,894 tons, and having risen in 1828 to 254,290 tons, had in 1830, four years before the abolition of slavery, sunk to 130,747 tons. The growing use of steam, making direct shipment to Europe more convenient than transhipment, and changes in commercial relations, may account for this falling off; but dates show that emancipation has nothing to do with it. Of course the main cause of decline in the trade of the city has been the decline in the prosperity of the island, but such a change in the channels of trade as is indicated above was an independent cause.

The statistics of illegitimacy, of infant mortality, of ignorance and irreligion, and of destitution in Kingston, are shocking. Churches are numerous, and congregations flourishing, but the vast mass of the negroes are scarcely affected by them. This is very different from the state of things in the country, and nothing could be more preposterous than to judge of the rural population by Kingston. The Kingstonians themselves are laughably ignorant of the country parts. One of them assured a clergyman of my acquaintance, with all the gravity imaginable, that the country negroes lived principally upon fruits! No doubt he has had the chance of telling some American touching at the port the same story, who has been able to attest it at home on the authority of a 'Jamaica gentleman of great intelligence.' The Kingston people may be intelligent, but a good many of them know little more about the interior of their own island than they do about the interior of Africa.

But ignorant and depraved as the negroes of Kingston are, besides being three times as numerous as the trade of the place requires, I do not see that they particularly deserve the reproach of laziness. Mr. Sewell remarks that he was puzzled to know how they had incurred it when he saw them crowding around him, all wild for a job. The negro women certainly, who coal the vessels, appear anything but indolent as they go to and fro erect under their heavy burdens: if the men let them do more than their share of the heavy work, it is precisely as in Germany,[C] and for just the same reason, namely, that the common people of neither country are sufficiently civilized to treat women as much more than a superior sort of beasts of burden. That even the Kingston populace have felt the quickening benefit of freedom, is shown by a little fact related by a shipmaster who has traded to the port for many years. He says that now he can always get his ship loaded and unloaded in quicker time than he could then.

As to security of life and property, there are few cities where both are safer than in Kingston. I have gone long distances though its unlighted streets late at night, with as little sense of danger as in a New England country road. There is a good police of black men, whose appearance is quite picturesque in their suits of spotless white, and a force of black soldiers quartered in barracks in the heart of the town, besides a part of a white regiment a few miles distant. The conduct of the black troops, however, at an extensive fire some two years ago, which destroyed a large district in the business part of the town, was an illustration of what seems a curious peculiarity of the African character, namely, that while docile and amenable to discipline in the highest degree in common, the negroes are apt in critical moments to break out into uncontrollable license. On this occasion, the black men, soldiers and all, instead of assisting to put out the fire, broke into the liquor shops, and having maddened themselves by drinking, fell to indiscriminate plundering. If it had not been for the women, who, to their great credit, rendered energetic assistance in working the engines, the city might have been consumed.

The most curious feature in the life of a city where there are many blacks is the incessant chatter in the streets. Chaffering, quarrelling, joking, there seems to be no end to their volubility. In the country it is the same, and you will sometimes hear two shrews scolding each other from a couple of hilltops a quarter of a mile apart, with an energy and unction only equalled by an angry Irishwoman. Men and women fortunately quarrel so much that they fight very little. Notwithstanding the heroic deeds of valor performed by black soldiers, I incline to think that they are, what some one describes the Arabs as being, cowardly, or at least timid, as individuals, and brave only through discipline and number.

I know of no reminiscences connected with Kingston of any essential note, unless it be a horrible incident mentioned by Bryan Edwards, the distinguished historian of the West Indies, as witnessed by himself in 1760. This was the execution of two black men, native Africans, convicted of the murder of their master. They were exposed in the parade, in the centre of the town, in an iron frame, and starved to death! Free access was allowed to the crowds who wished to talk with them, and with whom they kept up conversation, apparently supremely indifferent to their fate. Mr. Edwards himself, after they had been exposed some days, addressed them some questions, but could not understand their reply. At something he said, however, they both burst into a hearty laugh. On the morning of the ninth day one silently expired, and the other soon followed. Punishments so barbarous strike us with horror, but they are no gratuitous addition to slavery—they are one of its necessary features. A relation founded purely on force can be maintained only by terror. And where the proportion of whites is very small, as in most of the West Indies, they must compensate by the atrocity of their inflictions for the weakness of their numbers. On the 20th of April, 1856, there fell a rain of uncommon violence in the parish of St. Andrew, in which I was then residing. For six hours it seemed as if Niagara were rushing down upon our heads. The river Wagwater, which is commonly about knee deep, ran the next morning thirty feet high. The effect of this terrible visitation of nature was heightened by the disclosure through it of one of the monuments of ancient cruelty. At Halfway Tree, a few miles from Kingston, the seat of justice for the parish of St. Andrew, and the place of sepulture for many of the old aristocracy of the prouder days of the island, the rain washed up an iron cage, just of size to contain a human form, and so arranged with bars and spikes as to make it certain that the wretched victim could only stand in one long agony of torture. Along with it were found the bones of a woman, who had to appearance perished in this hideous apparatus. This dreadful revelation of the past struck horror throughout the island. The cage, with its sad contents, is still preserved in the collection of the Society of Arts.

The remarkable religious movement of 1861, which produced fruits so excellent in some parts of the island, in Kingston appears to have degenerated wholly into froth and noise. But there are some agencies of spiritual and temporal good working among the lower classes with happy effect. If they do not operate appreciably in changing the general character of the feculent mass, at least they rescue from it many who in the great day of account will call their authors blessed. I may mention particularly the charitable institutions of the excellent rector, Rev. Duncan Campbell, the reformatory for girls under the special patronage of the Rev. Mr. Watson, United Presbyterian, the vigorous efforts of Rev. William Gardner and his people, and many others less familiar to me, but doubtless not less worthy of mention. But Kingston offers such attractions to the very worst of the negro population, which, at the highest, has so much of barbarism and ignorance, that it will long continue a most forbidding and certainly a very unfair specimen of an emancipated race.

But, forlorn as Kingston is in itself, it is magnificently situated. Before it stretches for six miles in breadth the noble harbor, the sight of whose brilliant blue waters, sparkling in the sun, imparts a delicious refreshment as the eye catches a glimpse of them at the end of the long sandy streets. Inward stretches, sloping gently up to the mountains, the beautiful plain of Liguanea, about eight miles in breadth, scattered over with fine villas, and here and there a sugar estate. I remember with delight a view I once enjoyed just after sunset from St. Michael's church tower, toward the eastern end of the city. From that height the numerous trees planted in the yards, and which are not conspicuous from the streets, appeared in full view, and every mean and repulsive feature being hidden, the city seemed embowered in a paradise of verdure. On the right spread out the pleasant plain of Liguanea, bounded by the massive corrugations of the dark green mountains, while on the left the lines of cocoanut trees skirted the tranquil waters of the harbor, over which the evening star was shining. I wished that those foreigners who touch at Kingston, and, disgusted with its wretched squalor, go away and give an evil report of the goodly island, could be permitted to see the city from no other point than St. Michael's church tower.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote C: See J. Ross Browne's sparkling papers in Harper's Magazine.]



THE GRAVE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN

BY L. D. PYCHOWSKA.

The grave is deep and still, And fearful is its night; It hides, with darkened veil, The Unknown from our sight.

No song of nightingale Within its depths is heard; And only is its moss By friendship's roses stirred.

In vain their aching hands Forsaken brides may wring; No answer from the grave The cries of orphans bring:

Yet is it there alone The longed-for rest is found; Alone through these dark gates May pass the homeward bound.

The silent heart beneath, That pain and sorrow bore, Hath only found true peace There, where it beats no more.