They stand beside a second grave. The same ceremonies-the same effects: the earth heaves, the sepulchre yawns, the torch of the charnel-house uprears itself, and burns-the resemblance of a fair, beautiful youth, with radiant eyes and clustering locks, stands before them. "I know thee, too!" exclaimed Frederick, striving in vain to draw down his arm, so that the lurid flame might not gleam upon the shape-" My brother!" "Who died by a brother's hand!" "But I was guiltless-I was guiltless, dear Francis!" rejoined Frederick, in a tone of piercing anguish. "My arrow flew at the fierce wolf, when thou, crossing its path, receivedst it in thy heart!" "Did I upbraid thee for my death, as that heart's blood fell upon thee? Were not my words words of consolation? Strove I not to sooth the pangs with which that blameless deed of slaughter filled thee?" "Thou didst thou didst! Avaunt! Hide thee from mine eyes, or I shall grow mad. Oh! I sought not this!” "Think of the wretched misery our mother bore, whilst thou whole days and nights didst suffer her to mourn, in ignorance, my loss! Think what a stain, even to this hour, lies upon the innocent name of one who lives dishonoured in the suspicion of thy act! Thou canst not redeem the past; but thou mayst make the future witness of thy tardy justice." Frederick had covered his eyes with his hand, unable to look upon this vision. When he withdrew his hand, it was gone. They were again in silence and in darkness; but he heard the voice of Hermann at his side, in the same tone of taunting bitterness, repeating his own words: "Thou saidst truly, my friend. Thou hast now 'read something which the world never read.' Oh, these dead! how they answer for themselves,' Fre The scene was changed. They stood beneath the ruined porch of the church. The doors flew open with a rattling sound; they entered: the vast edifice was wrapped in impenetrable gloom, except the little circle of dismal light from the horrible torch. They advanced to the altar, the steps of which Hermann ascended alone, silently motioning his companion to remain. He waved his hands over the tall wax tapers that stood upon the table of the altar, when, by some strange spell, blue forked flames descended upon them, and they burned with dim ghastly flashes that shot forth each moment. By this fitful flare, Frederick could perceive all he did and all he looked; for his aspect was now wild, terrific, demon-like. He took the sacramental chalice, and stretching forth his bare arm, cried in a loud voice, "Come, ye viewless ministers of this dread hour! come from the fenny lake, the hanging rock, and the midnight cave! The moon is red-the stars are out-the sky is burning-and all nature stands aghast at what we do!" Then, replacing the sacred vessel on the altar, he drew, one by one, from different parts of his body, from his knotted hair, from his bosom, from beneath his nails, the unholy things which he cast into it. 66 This," said he, “I plucked from the beak of a raven, feeding on a murderer's brains! This is the mad dog's foam! These, the spurgings of a dead man's eyes, gathered since the rising of the evening star! This is a screech-owl's egg! This a single drop of black blood, squeezed from the heart of a sweltered toad! This, an adder's tongue! And here ten fine grains of the gray moss that grew upon a skull which had lain in the charnel-house three hundred years! What! not yet?" And his eyes seemed like balls of fire as he cast them upwards. "Not yet? I call ye once! I call ye twice! Dare you deny me? Nay, then, as I call ye thrice, I'll wound mine arm, and as it drops, I'll breathe a spell, shall cleave the ground and drag you here!" He held his left arm over the chalice, clutched it with his hand, and as if the talons of an eagle had infixed themselves, the blood spouted forth. While it dripped into the vessel, his lips moved convulsively, his eyes rolled, his limbs shook, and he gasped for breath like a strong man fighting hard with his last ago nies. Suddenly the tapers were extinguished, and there remained only the fearful glare that flickered horribly from the unhallowed torch. It reached not to the altar; so Frederick saw not Hermann. But he saw upon its lowest step-HIS MOTHER! even as he had seen her the day he returned without his brother, when he spoke not the word that would have spared those long hours of grief which the mystery of his absence caused; to be followed, at last, by all a mother's heart can feel for the untimely death of a beloved son. He bent his knee in reverential awe before the sacred shade; and his soul grew faint within him; for there was upon that maternal face a sad look of pity and of wrath. He had thoughts that burned for utterance, but he had no tongue to give them utterance. The form spoke: "Why hast thou troubled me in death my son? Why hast thou in life arrayed thee in that garb of death? Why hast thou disturbed MY sepulchre, for the shroud that infolds thee?" Shrieks of horror burst from him, as again he strove, but vainly, to tear off the sacrilegious spoil of his mother's grave. "Son! thou hast sought, unholily, the secrets of the dead; hear MINE! The canker that preyed upon my life, was grief for thee. The forsaken of God, are they alone who forsake God. All sinners else may hope to be partakers of his infinite mercies. THOU WERT GOD-FORSAKEN! Thou clothedst thyself in the pride of thy understanding-said there was no Godand lived as if thou didst believe in thy impiety. I loved thee, for I bare thee thou wert my child; but the thorns planted in my heart by the knowledge that my child must perish eternally, wounded it to death !" The shadow faded away, and again the laughing yell of exulting voices sounded in the affrighted ears of Frederick, as he lay prostrate on the cold damp pavement, shedding involuntary tears. They fell from his eyes like drops of molten lead. His brain seemed on fire. He groaned, and howled, and gnashed his teeth, and dashed his face furiously against the stones. He heard the voice of Hermann. Oh! the damning chuckle of that voice, as he joyously shouted, "Rare secrets! brave secrets? marvellous revelations for the living!" "Since when hath such a notion possessed you?' 'Since my mother died!' And she died — ' 'Oh ask the doctor,' ha! ha! ha! he'll tell you 'twas of atrophy;' ha! ha! ha! but my father died before her, Hermann; and had he lived, she were living too!' ha! ha! ha! I laughed amid my tears to hear them talk; and then it was that I first thought how the dead would answer for themselves.' Ha! ha! ha! Laugh, man, laugh as I do! Laugh Now, amid thy tears, thou desperate fool!" * The next morning Frederick was found a corpse in the abbey church, at the foot of his mother's tomb, leading to the altar. Adolphine told what she knew of the compact between him and Hermann; but Hermann brought forward two fellow stu dents with whom he had passed the preceding evening; and his own servant proved that he retired to bed at eleven, where he found him at the usual hour when he went to call him. Hermann himself, too, denied that he had ever entered into such a compact, wept for the death of his friend, and triumphed over his accusers. Yet, had he been required to bare his left arm, there would have appeared upon it the fresh blood-marks of lacerated flesh, as if torn by an eagle's talons! BALLAD Ir to love thee in silence, in gloom, and in sadness, Be love which has charms for a spirit like thine, Oh! give to the world all thy spring-time of gladness, For joy is no lure to a passion like mine. I wish not-I ask not, to share in the hour When thy soul flashes forth its most eloquent gleams; Oh! then be the world's while its pleasures can charm thee, But be mine when the glow of affection can warm thee, Let others rejoice in the halo around thee, The bright beams of fame which are over thee cast; I ask but to know that the chains which once bound thee So fondly to me, will eling on to the last! S. S. THE MORAL HISTORY OF WOMAN, WITH A PARTICULAR REFERENCE TO THE FEMALE CHARACTER IN ENGLAND. BY MISS JANE PORTER. DURING a Christmas visit a few years ago to a sequestered old English family in a remote corner of Northumberland, where the guests were few, and the severity of the weather prevented the arrival of more, a variety of entertaining subjects of discourse beguiled the time; leaving hardly a wish, with even the youngest, for gayer amusement. One evening, after the opening of a box of books from Newcastle, where travels, natural history, biography, novels, and new music, had been tumbled out, and all passed under examination (most having been composed by, or dedicated to, different individuals of the fair sex); the conversation fell on the present influence of the female character on society in general, and most especially on that of England. The guests were of both sexes: and the gentlemen, with a frankness which did them honour, were the first to admire the just arrived proofs of female talent; and to avow the power of woman over the heart of man, even when neither youth nor beauty were her auxiliaries, by the effect of her good sense and persuasive affection alone. Many instances of this propitious influence were related; showing, to her honour, how the devoted soul of woman in such a case, verified by her obedience, the divine sentence "Thy desire shall be to thy husband!" Directing her anxious wishes to even his general welfare; looking abroad from the quiet station of her domestic duties, with the keen eye of "Sister Ann on the tower top," careful to give notice against all approach of evil, whether to his health, his fortune, or his happiness. "Ah!" cried one of the party, "show me where such a helpmate is to be found nowadays? Not ainongst our silkstocking waltzers, nor our bluestocking lion-hunters! Pleasure and pedantry are alike enemies to domestic comfort, and to social improvement." "Yes," replied another, "but if we were to have a history of woman's happy influence, we should find her character, when so exerted, always lying between those two extremes. In short, to charm, to sooth, to purify, to animate to good." All present wished for such a history, disentangled from that of the general mass of mankind; and on one of the ladies, something inconsiderately, saying that she thought a sketch at least of so desirable a chronicle might easily be done, the whole party called on her to make good her word! and give to them such a record, however slight, for the next week's amusement. No denial would be listened to; and, accordingly, on the evening mutually agreed on, the following pages were offered to the little circle of friends, and read aloud by the master of the house. THE MORAL HISTORY OF WOMAN. A SKETCH. FIRST EVENING. "Age may alter her form, but must leave me behind The history of every country in the known world, brings sufficient proofs, that in proportion to the real civilization of a people, the character of women in that country, is esteemed or despised; and, in a parallel degree, she holds a natural, though not always a conscious, influence over the minds and manners of the men around her. In the very youth of the world, when human nature appeared in its most perfect state, we are told that woman was created to be a help meet for man; that is to say, his companion and friend, not his slave nor his servant. Hence the phrase has been familiarly expressed his helpmate. But human nature wearied of the calm of innocence. It curiously sought to know what evil could be; it tasted, and it fell; and woful has been its stumbling ever since. The exiles from paradise had "all the earth before them, where to choose ;" and they were now content with the first "green herb" spot they came to; there to abide amidst all its" briers and thorns," because it was still on the borders of Eden. Thus had disobedience, brought them to evil; and repentance, to the good of submission; they were yet nigh God! It has been a fashion with a particular class of writers, to consider the totally ignorant, and therefore savage state, to have been the original condition of every people on the globe; and, in direct consequence, we must suppose that a degrading and task-master treatment of the female sex, was the most ancient usage, at the time these authors call the golden age of man! But we have a surer testimony than the theories of Rousseau, and others the like metaphysical philosophers, that "from the beginning it was not so." We have the evidence of the earliest historians of Greece and Rome, and of yet more ancient writers, that, from the first transmitted knowledge of the primeval nations, they were resident in cities. Such congregating of the inhabitants of a country necessarily implies an advance in civilization far beyond that wild condition which modern visionaries are so fond of styling, "the state of nature;" and which some of them seem to regret, as if they identified the naked barbarians of the desert, with the blessed pair in paradise, whose only garment was the brightness of their purity. But this reference, lights me to the most important testimony of my argument: that of the oldest book in existence, and which is also of the best authority, The History of Mankind, written by Moses: who (leaving his indeed divine inspiration out of the question) was pronounced to be "a man learned in all the learning of Egypt;" the then great university of the world. This venerable historian, whose simple and sublime narrative was the admiration of even heathen critics, has made manifest, by a succession of most interesting, though brief details, that the original families of the earth were not houseless wanderers. He describes them as forming for themselves stationary habitations, labouring in tillage and pasturage, and living together under the jurisdiction of patriarchal governments, from the very first of time after their parents were expelled from the bowers of Eden. Here I cannot but pause upon that blissful name! the real golden age of the Pagan's traditionary memory of such a place, once the hereditary home of all mankind! and may it not be wholesome to the exiled prodigal's posterity, to sometimes recal to recollection the sacred privileges of the "native land," which their own disobedience might have as surely forfeited? A land, whose scenes, we must suppose, were all in harmony with the divine contemplations; and fitted for the abodes of unsullied purity alone. A garden for indeed a perpetual sabbath; not the rest of indolence, but the undisturbed serenity of the soul; where the highest powers of the mind, and the best affections of the heart, might have enjoyed for ever the most exquisite pleasures; friendship with spotless beings of their own kind, and companionship in happy ministry with angels, or studying with them the wonderful works of the allgracious Creator. When transgression caused man's expulsion from that holy place, and he became a banished son, (to be indeed recalled hereafter, by the Redeemer of mankind!) he was not, even then, sent forth without a guide to his steps, and a guardian-law for his conduct. He was not permitted to double punishment on the head of his partner in offence, by desiring her to be put away from him, because of her weaker judgment ;neither did he ask for another helpmate; one more worthy of the name, to supplant her in his bosom who had shared his innocence as well as frailty. Eve remained his companion, his sympathizing sharer in weal or woe. The same sacred historian gives sufficient proof that the immediate generations from the primitive pair, continued to restrain themselves to the ordinance of one wife; by his so especially making record of the exception, who broke the law by introducing polygamy? This delinquent was Lamech, a descendant of Cain; showing himself, in being the first violater of the domestic bonds, a notable offspring of the first murderer of his brethren. The next instance we find is a melancholy one; for it is given from amongst the families of the just. Jacob married two wives. He was it may be said, beguiled into taking the bride of the first; and his affections having been long fixed on the object of the second, his heart persuaded his conscience into the snare of the cunning father who had betrayed him before; and Jacob became the husband of Rachel and Leah ;-but his home never knew peace afterwards. Indeed, we may observe, from profane as well as sacred history, that any dereliction from the rule of right, whether by a rebellious envy seizing by force what it covets, or a restless licentiousness abusing the abundant gifts of Providence, it seldom escapes some signal punishment engendered in the very crime. But to return to the more early fathers of the human race. The Hebrew historian leads us to understand that Noah and his three sons, the second ancestors of mankind, had maintained the original singleness, therefore purity, of the nuptial union. By which example to their posterity the dignity of woman was renewed; and with it, all the endearing bonds of the domestic ties. It is very interesting to trace evidences of this fact in the traditions of Asia, revealed to us by modern English travellers, to whom the present natives of the country near Mount Ararat point out the site of the city which Noah built, and also the burying-place of her, whom they call "Maragna, the beloved spouse of the prophet of the ark." Other spots, in those first-peopled regions of the emerged world, are also shown, with mutilated tales attached to them of similar scriptural events; told too with a sort of holy reverence, although the relaters are now followers of the Koran, or of the wildest forms of a half-idolatrous worship. Surely, it may be considered something more than marvellous, when we see the seeds of sacred truth, yet abiding in the most desert wildernesses of moral nature. Again we find, from the same concurring testimonies, that Abraham, the illustrious patriarch, in whose posterity "all the nations of the earth were to be blessed!" who was the Father of the Faithful, to Jew, Christian, and Turk! that he continued, to the last hour of his life, to regard, as his equal partner, Sarah the wife of his youth and age. But she, for want of due confidence in the divine promise, on her own barrenness, persecuted her husband into the error of taking her bondwoman Hagar to wife also; but in an inferior character. The consequences were, what have always ensued on the like, vexation and constant family discord. A few pages on in the sacred volume we have a most affecting proof of Sarah's maternal virtues, in the lasting sorrow of her son Isaac after her death.-It is so beautiful, that I cannot forbear copying it: "And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at even-tide. And he lifted up his eyes, and saw; and behold camels were coming. And Rebecca, when she saw Isaac she alighted off the camel, and took a veil and covered herself. And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah's tent, and took Rebecca, and she became his] wife; and Isaac |