Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

pent, through the forest and jungle far | Here, also, it finds a deep soil, which it below. must convert into ashes and igneous matter. On Monday we decamped early, and laid Often, therefore, it does not progress an eighth our course for old Kilauea. At noon we of a mile a day in the woods, and thus our were befogged, lost our way, and encamped town has been more than once saved from at 1 P. M. On Tuesday we found our track devouring fire. In 1852 an igneous river and reached Kilauea. On Wednesday we approached within ten miles of us. That explored, took measurements, collected speci- caused much solicitude, but this more, as the mens, &c., and on Thursday reached home, amount disgorged is greater, and the stream having been absent ten days. heads more directly for our town and harbor. Oct. 23. It is now seventy-three days One week brought the fearful stream from since the great mountain eruption com- the mountain summit into the woods, or menced, and still its vigor is not abated. half way to the shore. In this forest it has Had we found the incandescent stream flow-been incessantly at work for sixty-six days, ing into the sea on our return from the and yet the petrifying head of this Medusa mount, we had not been disappointed. does not emerge from the lower skirts of the Nothing but the great distance, the tortuous jungle. We therefore begin to feel that the course of the stream, and the many obstruc- | threatened ruin may be averted, and that the tions in the route, could have prevented it igneous current may spend its force in the from reaching the sea in one week. Down forest, and thus open a future highway to the side of the mountain proper, say twenty- the mountains. five miles, it flows with terrible swiftness. At the base of the mount it flows over a plain of scoriform matter, cooled when agitated like the ocean in a tempest, and presenting a foaming surface of hills, valleys, cones, pits, ridges, gorges, caverns, &c., of some ten miles broad. Here the molten stream struggles, expanding, contracting, dividing, struggling to overcome obstructions, filling up vast basins, &c., and thus pushing sluggishly on to its third stage. This is that broad and dense forest already spoken of, extending from the plains at the base of the mountain, to within a few miles of the shores of Hilo. Here the fiery stream has found its greatest obstructions.

Through this forest the slope is very gradual-say 3°; while, in addition to hills, ridges, gorges, basins, etc., it meets hundreds of enormous trees, and dives into swamps of mud, pools of water, and wet jungles, which act as a prompt damper.

EPITAPH.-The following epitaph was copied from a monument in Tichfield Church, Hants: "The Hvsband, speakinge trewly of his Wife, Read his losse in hir death, hir praise in life. Heare Lucie Quinsie Bromfield buried lies, With neighbours sad deepe weepinge, hartes, sighes, eyes.

Children eleaven, tenne livinge me she brought. More kind, trewe, chaste was noane, in deed, word, thought.

Howse, children, state, by hir was ruld, bred, thrives.

Should the stream continue to flow for a

few days more, I propose to make a second exploration not as the first, to the high terminal fountain, but to the terminus, or end of the stream, as it eats its sullen way in the jungle, revealed only by its clouds of smoke by day and its baleful fires by night. This can be done only by cutting through the entangled forest, step by step, until we meet the fiery dragon in his own hidden pathway. Many a time have I thus approached an incandescent stream and dipped up its glowing fusion.

The foregoing is a glance at the facts connected with our present eruption, and our rapid tour to the mountain. Taking into account the duration of the flow. the length and breadth of the stream, and the amount of igneous matter disgorged — to say nothing of its present approach to our town—it is the greatest eruption I have witnessed during my twenty years' residence at Hilo.

[blocks in formation]

very

else!" And we hoped that before such a day should dawn we might be taken to our rest. God forbid that we should outlive the love of

From the (New York) Examiner. "OUTLIVED HER USEFULNESS." REVERENCE for age should be instilled early into the minds of children; and, like all seed sown by a mother's hand, it will take deep root there. Then will the virtues of the aged shine very brightly before the mind, and their infirmities be looked on with great leniency and pity. Next to motherless chil-burial, we went up to the sanctuary to pay dren, do the stricken-in-years" claim our sympathy.

our children! Rather let us die while our hearts are a part of their own, that our graves may be watered with their tears, and our love linked with their hopes of heaven.

[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

Not long since, a good-looking man, in middle life, came to our door asking for "the minister." When informed that he was out of town, he seemed disappointed and anxious. On being questioned as to his business, he replied, "I have lost my mother, and as this place used to be her home, and as my father lies here, we have come to lay her beside him."

When the bell tolled for the mother's

our only token of respect to the aged stranger; for we felt that we could give her memory a tear, even though her own children had none to shed.

"She was a good mother in her day, and toiled hard to bring us all up- but she had outlived her usefulness-she was no comfort to herself, and a burden to everybody else." These cruel, heartless words rang in our ears as we saw the coffin borne up the aisle. The bell tolled long and loud, until its iron tongue had chronicled the years of the toil-worn mother. One-two three-four-five;

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

ten

[ocr errors]

seven

twelve

hów clearly and almost merrily each stroke told of her once peaceful slumber in her mother's bosom, and of her seat at nightfall on her weary father's knees. Six Our heart rose in sympathy, and we said, eight — nine · rang out the tale of "You have met with a great loss." her sports upon the greensward, in the "Well-yes," replied the strong man, meadow, and by the brook. Eleven with hesitancy, "a mother is a great loss in — thirteen — fourteen — fifteen, spoke more general but, our mother had outlived her gravely of school days and little household usefulness Sixteen she was in her second childhood, joys and cares. · seventeen · cighand her mind had grown as weak as her teen, sounded out the enraptured visions of body, so that she was no comfort to herself, maidenhood, and the dream of early love. and was a burden to everybody. There were Nineteen brought before us the happy bride. seven of us sons and daughters, and as we Twenty spoke of the young mother, whose could not find anybody who was willing to heart was full to bursting with the new board her, we agreed to keep her among us strong love which God had wakened in her But I've had more than my bosom. And then, stroke after stroke told of share of her, for she was too feeble to be her early womanhood of the love and care, moved when my time was out; and that was and hopes and fears and toils through which more than three months before her death. she passed during those long years, till Fifty! But then, she was a good mother, in her day, rang out, harsh and loud. From that to and toiled very hard to bring us all up." Sixty, each stroke told of the strong, warmWithout looking at the face of the heart-hearted mother and grandmother, living over less man, we directed him to the house of again her own joys and sorrows in those of a neighboring pastor, and returned to our her children and children's children. Every nursery. We gazed on the merry little faces family of all the group wanted grandmother there, which smiled or grew sad in imitation then, and the only strife was who should of ours- those little ones to whose ear no secure the prize; but hark! the bell tolls on! word in our language is half so sweet as Seventy — seventy-one three-four. "Mother; " and we wondered if that day | She begins to grow feeble, requires some care, could ever come when they would say of us, is not always perfectly patient or satisfied; "She has outlived her usefulness she is no she goes from one child's house to another, comfort to herself, and a burden to everybody so that no one place seems like home.

a year about.

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

murmurs in plaintive tones that, after all her Now I feel it. Our mother," he added most toil and weariness, it is hard she cannot be tenderly, "who now lies in death before us, allowed a home to die in; that she must be was a stranger to me, as are all these her desent rather than invited from house to house. scendants. All I know of her is what her son Eighty-eighty-one — two · three-four; has told me to-day-that she was brought "she to this town from afar, sixty-nine years ago,

[ocr errors]

now

[ocr errors]

- ah, she is now a second child has outlived her usefulness—she has now a happy bride--that here she passed most ceased to be a comfort to herself or anybody; " of her life, toiling as only mothers ever have that is, she has ceased to be profitable to strength to toil, until she had reared a large her earth-craving and money-grasping chil- family of sons and daughters that she left dren. her home here, clad in the weeds of widowNow sounds out, reverberating through hood, to dwell among her children; and that, our lonely forest, and echoing back from our till health and vigor left her, she lived for "hill of the dead," Eighty-nine! There she you, her descendants. You, who together lies now in the coffin, cold and still-she have shared her love and her care, know how makes no trouble now – demands no love, no well you have requited her. God forbid that soft words, no tender little offices. A look conscience should accuse any of you of inof patient endurance, we fancied also an ex-gratitude or murmuring on account of the pression of grief for unrequited love, sat on care she has been to you of late. When you her marble features. Her children were there, clad in weeds of woe, and in irony we remembered the strong man's words, "She was a good mother in her day.'

[ocr errors]

I

go back to your homes, be careful of your words and your example before your own children, for the fruit of your own doing you will surely reap from them when you yourWhen the bell ceased tolling, the strange selves totter on the brink of the grave. minister rose in the pulpit. His form was entreat you, as a friend, as one who has himerect and his voice strong, but his hair was self entered the 'evening of life,' that you silvery white. He read several passages of never say in the presence of your families nor Scripture, expressive of God's compassion to of heaven, 'Our mother had outlived her feeble man, and especially of His tenderness usefulness-she was a burden to us.' Neywhen gray hairs are on him and his strength er, never; a mother cannot live so long as faileth. He then made some touching re- that! No; when she can no longer labor marks on human frailty, and of dependence for her children, nor yet care for herself, she on God, urging all present to make their peace can fall like a precious weight on their faithwith their Maker while in health, that they ful bosoms, and call forth by her helplessness might claim his promises when heart and all the noble, generous feelings of their naflesh should fail them. "Then," he said, tures. "the eternal God shall be thy refuge, and "Adieu, then, poor toil-worn mother! there beneath thee shall be the everlasting arms. are no more sleepless nights, no more days Leaning over the desk, and gazing intently of pain for thee. Undying vigor and everon the coffined form before him, he then said lasting usefulness are part of the inheritance reverently: "From a little child I have hon- of the redeemed. Feeble as thou wert on ored the aged; but never till gray hairs cov-earth, thou wilt be no burden on the bosom ered my own head, did I know truly how of Infinite Love, but there shalt thou find thy much love and sympathy this class have a longed-for rest, and receive glorious sympathy right to demand of their fellow-creatures. from Jesus and his ransomed fold."

[ocr errors]
[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

"A bull consists in a mental juxtaposition of incongruous ideas, with the sensation, but without the sense, of connection."

Adopting this explanation, which appears as satisfactory as any yet given, our own experience both from reading and conversation will hardly allow us to dissent from the Quarterly Reviewer, who, in a notice of Miss Edgeworth's Essay on Irish Bulls (vol. I. p. 281), coincides with that delightful writer as to the gross injustice of the exclusive attribution of these phraseological peculiarities to the natives of the country of which she was so distinguished an ornament. That the soil, however, of the Irish intellect does afford more congenial pasture for the animal than is to be found else

where, I am not prepared to deny; but do believe that the genuine thoroughbred bull is far more rarely found in less favored climes. Mere blunders, however, are plentiful enough everywhere; and as an appropriate instance, perhaps that of the honest lowland farmer, though well known, may here bear repetition, who, having purchased a copy of Miss Edgeworth's essay, pronounced her "A puir silly body to write a book on bulls, and no ane word o' horned cattle in it a', forby the bit beastie (the vignette) at the beginning

[ocr errors]

Swift is a singularly clear writer, but instances may be cited to show that he has not escaped the national peculiarity; such, for example, as his emphatic adjuration:

“Therefore, I do most earnestly exort you as Christians, as parents, and as lovers of your country, to read this paper with the utmost attention, or get it read to you by others." First Drapier's Letter.

This reminds us of the well-known epitaph, English I think,

[ocr errors][merged small]

Writers of the class to which Mr. Gilfillan belongs, "ipsis Hibernis Hiberniores," afford many an instance in proof of the truth of Miss Edgeworth's position. To take an illus tration from the "horticultural " pages of this author:

"He must have seen in a blaze of blinding light, the vanity and evil, the folly and madness of the worldly or selfish, and the grandeur and truth of the disinterested and Christian life.". Bards of the Bible, p. 222.

We may ask this "splendid" writer to describe the process of seeing by means of that which destroys the visual faculty: this may be pronounced a genuine bull.

Mr. Cunningham, for whose most interesting notes to Johnson's Lives of the Poets we cannot be too grateful, pronounces his author "The most distinguished of his contemporaries."

- Preface, p. v.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

Anagreeable lady-writer gives us the following extraordinary description of the Russian capital:

"The real and peculiar magnificence of St. Petersburg consists in thus sailing, apparently upon the bosom of the ocean, into a city of palaces."-Sedgwick's Letters from the Baltic. This is a landslip with a vengeance! Warren, again, is an extremely careless writer. Hear his description of a cigar of Brobdignagian dimensions, and jointed, I suppose, like a flute, for convenience of carriage:

"The astonished Yahoo, smoking, as well as he could, a cigar, with which he had filled all his pockets ! Ten Thousand a-Year, ch. xiii.

the selfishness of her grief, and turn her the bed and upon the wall, upon her uplift-
thoughts, even then, to the wants and weak-ed hands? Yes! and even upon the broad
ness of others. She had slept by the boy's waters it cast that livid glare. No hue of
side since his illness, but, to-night, was to sunrise is it, but fierce and flickering, as
return to her own room; and fearing to meet though it were the bloody shadow of some
Mrs. Hardwick, or, indeed, any one, until huge tongue, licking up the red waters.
she was more calm, she hastily arranged the
sick-room, and stole down to bed. The
moonlight rested full upon her window, and
showed her a package lying before it. "A
parting gift from Cecil," she said, instinct-
ively, as she crossed the room; and so it was.
A small selection of books, the case of rich
Eastern workmanship, curiously designed to
hold a considerable number of volumes in an
apparently small space, showed that the
donor had well understood her likings. Yet
she turned with a sickness of heart from the
delicately carved ebony, and the chaste bind-
ings of some of her especial favorites, until
a letter caught her eye. To seize and open
it was the work of an instant; but her hot
tears welled up so fast that she had to pause
before she could read a single line. It proved
to be but a few words, entreating her by the
memory of one they both loved to appeal to
him as to a brother, if ever in sickness or
sorrow she should need a friend. Within
the cover was a bank-note for a hundred
pounds, which, with the books, he left her
in Arthur's name; and concluded by saying
that, if there was any possibility of her de-
siring his presence in England at some future
time, they had not parted forever.

-

none

Still

With a cry of horror, Mary sprang to her
feet, and threw open the window. Dense
masses of smoke rolled past; and as they
cleared away, there, upon the cliff, upon the
wings of the frighted sea-birds, everywhere
was that unearthly glare. As the truth
flashed on her, and she wrung her hands in
despair, the solemn tolling of the fire-bell
sounded from the cliff, and she heard dis-
tinctly the shouts for help, and the dragging
down of chests and furniture from other
parts of the house. She was alone, then,
out of the reach of aid, in the tower –
would ever dare to rescue the poor governess.
But Grenville, the child! She rushed to
the door; the air was suffocating, the hot
planks scorched her feet; it was too plain
that the flames had gained ground, and cut
them off from the hope of succor.
she would try to save him. With a strength
she never dreamt of possessing, she seized the
sleeping boy and bore him down the scorch-
ing stairs, unconscious of his weight. One
glance from his window had told her all.
The Grange was enveloped in flames, and,
hurrying to and fro amid the gleaming hel-
mets of the firemen, were trembling figures,
and faces shining livid with terror, even
through that lurid heat. The fire had leapt
onward fiercely in those few seconds, for, as
she again passed the door which barred
them in so fatally, a redder glow shone
through the crackling panels, and fresh
streams of smoke poured in. She closed her
own door, and bore the terrified child to the
window; but she could not comfort him –
she could not even pray. Life had been sad
enough; but was it to end thus, in this suf-
focating horror, this scorching agony? With
Grenville in her arms, she rocked to and
fro; his piteous voice calling upon his moth-
er-she, upon God and Cecil. She looked
once more, despondingly, from the window,
but the dizzy height made her recoil and
shudder even then. There was no hope, then

Mary was soothed by his words, and, though her inmost heart was aching, she laid down with a sweet sense that, parted as they were, his protecting love would follow her still. She thought that sleep would surely never come that night: but she forgot that she was yet young, and that the last few days had been inexpressibly wearying, both to body and mind. She pressed the letter to her lips, and retraced, in memory, all her intercourse through joy and sorrow with the writer; but the moon scon shone upon her sleeping face, and though it was pale and blistered with tears, it seemed to rest there fondly, as on something holy. In her dreams she saw Cecil again, and herself, not Alice, white-robed and smiling by his side. The moon-beams rolled away, and a -none; and again, in her agony, Cecil's cloud darkened the casement; but she slept name broke louder, and yet louder, from her Then the carriage-wheels woke the lips. Was it possible? or was it some mockechoes of the night, and for a few short hours ing demon that, amid the crashing timber the same roof was to shelter her and him and echoing bell, answered with words of she loved. Still she slept; and the sounds hope? The door burst open. Yes, scorched died away, and silence reigned again, save and blackened as he was, it was he! they that the wind and the sea answered each would never more be parted, but pass to other with a mournful and prophetic wail-gether through that choking, fiery death. ing. But the sleeper still slept on. She clung to his feet, she covered them with

on.

Ah! why does she start so wildly, and her kisses, and he heard her passionate words what glow is that upon her face?-upon of love. Back to the window, through the

[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]
« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »