Read Ebook: Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine - Volume 54 No. 338 December 1843 by Various

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Thus mourn'd the chief--and no relief his regal state could bring. O'er such a drear unpeopled waste, oh! who would be a king? And still, when desolate a land, and her sons all swept away, "The waste domain of Syloson," 'tis call'd unto this day!

FOOTNOTES:

Greek proverb.

"The fiery youth, with desperate charge, Made for a space an opening large."--MARMION.

LOVE AND DEATH.

O strong as the Eagle, O mild as the Dove! How like, and how unlike, O Death and O Love!

Knitting Earth to the Heaven, The Near to the Far-- With the step on the dust, And the eyes on the star!

Ever changing the sceptres Ye bear--as in play; Now Love as Death rules us, Now Death has Love's sway!

Why wails so the New-born? Love gave it the breath. The soul sees Love's brother-- Life enters on Death!

Why that smile the wan lips Of the dead man above? The soul sees Death changing Its shape into Love.

So confused and so blending Each twin with its brother, The frown of one melts In the smile of the other.

Love warms where Death withers, Death blights where Love blooms; Death sits by our cradles, Love stands by our tombs!

Edward Lytton Bulwer.

Nov. 9, 1843.

THE BRIDGE OVER THE THUR.

FROM THE GERMAN.--GUSTAV SCHWAB.

Spurning the loud THUR'S headlong march, Who hath stretcht the stony arch? That the wayfarer blesses his path! That the storming river wastes his wrath!

Was it a puissant prince, in quelling This watery vassal, oft rebelling?-- Or earthly Mars, the bar o'erleaping, That wrong'd his war of its onward sweeping?

Did yon high-nesting Castellan Lead the brave Street, for horse and man? And, the whiles his House creeps under the grass, The Road, that he built, lies fair to pass?

Nay! not for the Bridge, which ye look upon, Manly hest knit stone with stone. The loved word of a woman's mouth Bound the thundering chasm with a rocky growth.

She, in turret, who sitteth lone, Listing the broad stream's heavier groan, Kenning the flow, from his loosen'd fountains, From the clouds, that have wash'd a score of mountains.

A skiff she notes, by the shelvy marge, Wont deftly across to speed its charge; Now jumping and twisting, like leaf on a lynn, Wo! if a foot list cradle therein!

Sooner, than hath she THOUGHT her FEELING, With travellers twain is the light plank reeling. Who are they?... Marble watcher! Who? Thy beautiful, youthful, only two!

Coming, glad, from the greenwood slaughter, They reach the suddenly-swollen water; But the nimble, strong, and young, Boldly into the bark have sprung.

The game in the forest fall, stricken and bleeding; Those river-waves are of other breeding! And the shriek of the mother helpeth not, At seeing turn upwards the keel of the boat.

Needs must she upon the mothers think, Who yet may stand beholding sink, Under the hastily-roused billow, Sons, upthriven to be their pillow.

Till, in her deeply-emptied bosom, There buds a melancholy blossom, Tear-nourisht:--the will the wo to spare To others, which hath left her bare.

Ere doth her sorrow a throe abate, Is chiseling and quarrying, early, late. The hoarse flood chafes, with straiten'd tides: Aloft, the proud Arch climbs and strides.

How her eyes, she fastens on frolicsome boys, O'er the stone way racing, with careless noise. Hark!--hark!--the wild Thur, how he batters his rocks! But YE gaze, laugh, and greet the gruff chider, with mocks.

Or, she vieweth with soft footfall, Mothers, following their children all. A gleam of pleasure, a spring of yearning, Sweetens her tears, dawns into her mourning.

And her pious work endureth! And her pain a slumber cureth! Heareth not yonder torrent's jars! Hath her young sons above the stars!

Fontainbleau, 1843.

THE BANKING-HOUSE.

A NEGOTIATION.

Whilst Michael Allcraft coolly and designedly looked around him, in the hope of fixing on the prey he had resolved to find--whilst, cautious as the midnight housebreaker, who dreads lest every step may wake his sleeping victim, he almost feared to do what most he had at heart, and strove by ceaseless effort to bring into his face the show of indifference and repose;--whilst he was thus engaged, there were many, on the other hand, eager and impatient to crave from him, as for a boon, all that he himself was but too willing to bestow. Little did Michael guess, on his eventful wedding-day, as his noble equipage rattled along the public roads, what thoughts were passing in the minds of some who marked him as he went, and followed him with longing eyes. His absorbing passion, his exhilaration and delight, did not suffer him to see one thin and anxious-looking gentleman, who, spyglass in hand, sat at his cottage window, and brought as near as art allowed--not near enough to satisfy him--the entranced and happy pair. That old man, with nine times ten thousand pounds safe and snug in the stocks, was miserable to look at, and as miserable in effect. He was a widower, and had a son at Oxford, a wild, scapegrace youth, who had never been a joy to him, but a trial and a sorrow even from his cradle. Such punishments there are reserved for men--such visitations for the sins our fathers wrought, too thoughtless of their progeny. How the old man envied the prosperous bridegroom, and how vainly he wished that his boy might have done as well; and how through his small grey eye, the labouring tear-drops oozed, as he called fresh to mind again all that he had promised himself at the birth of his unhappy prodigal! What would he not give to recover and reform the wayward boy? The thought occurred to him, and he dallied with it for his pleasure. "If I could but settle him with this young Allcraft! Why should it not be done? I will give him all I have at once, if necessary, and live in a garret, if it will save my poor Augustus. I will speak to him on his return. What a companion and example for my boy! Open and straightforward--steady as a rock--as rich as Croesus. Most certainly I'll see him. I knew his father. I'll not grudge a few thousands to establish him. Stick him to business, and he shall do yet." The equipage rolled on as unconscious of the old man's dreams as were its animated inmates; and in due time it passed a massive lodge, which led through green and winding paths to the finest park and mansion in the parish. Close to the lodge's porch there stood a tall and gloomy-looking man, neatly dressed--alone. His arms were folded, and he eyed the carriage thoughtfully and seriously, as though he had an interest there, known to himself, and to no one else. He was a very proud man that--the owner of this vast estate, master of unnumbered acres, and feared rather than loved by the surrounding people. Wealth is the most royal of despots--the autocrat of all the world. Men whose sense of liberty forbids them to place their worst passions under wise control, will crawl in fetters to lick the basest hand well smeared with gold. There was not an individual who could say a good word for the squire behind his back. You would hardly believe it, if you saw individual and squire face to face. And there he stood, with as ill-omened a visage as ever brought blight upon a party of pleasure. He watched the panting horses out of sight--opened his gate, and walked the other way. He, like the old man, had his plans, and an itching for a share in Michael Allcraft's fortune. How he, so wealthy and respected, could need a part of it, remains a mystery at present. The squire knew his business. He went straightway to the banking-house, and made enquiry respecting Allcraft's destination. He gained intelligence, and followed him at once. They met abroad--they returned home in company. They became great friends, and within three months--PARTNERS. And the old man had been, as he threatened to be, very busy likewise. He had fought his son's battle very hardly and very successfully, as he believed, and with twenty thousand pounds had purchased for him a junior partner's interest in the estate. The hopeful boy was admitted into the concern during his residence in Oxford. He had never been seen, but his father was a man of substance, well known and esteemed. The character which he gave with his son was undeniable. Its truth could not be questioned, backed as it was by so liberal an advance.

Planner lived in a very humble part of a very humble house, in a very humble street. The two-pair back was his domain, and his territory was less adorned than crowded with the evidences of his taste and handiwork. In the remote corner of his unclean apartment was a lathe for turning ivory--near it the material, a monstrous elephant's tusk. Shelves, carried round the room, supported bottles of various sizes, externally very dirty, and internally what you please; for eyes could not penetrate so far, and determine the contents. A large label, crowning all, announced them to be "samples." Books were strewed every where--manuscripts met you at every turn. The walls were filled with charts and drawings, one of the former representing the field of Waterloo, dissected and intersected, with a view to prove Lord Wellington guilty of winning a battle, which, in conformity with every law of strategy, he should have lost. One drawing was a rough sketch of his unhappy swamp; another, the elaborate delineation of a hydraulic pump. In the niche corresponding to that in which the lathe was fixed, there was a small iron bedstead; and in this, although it was nearly noon when Michael paid his friendly visit, Mr Allcraft caught sight of Mr Planner when he opened the door, in obedience to the very sharp and loud voice which invited him to "walk in." The ingenious gentleman had breakfasted. The tea things were on a stool at his side. He wore his nightcap, and he was busy in examining a crimson liquid, which he held in a glass close to his eyes. "That man was murdered, Allcraft!" exclaimed Mr Planner after the briefest possible salutation. "Murdered, as I am a living Christian!"

"What man?" asked Allcraft.

"Him they hanged last week for poisoning his father. What was the evidence? Why, when they opened the body, they found a grain or two of arsenic. Hang a man upon that! A pretty state of things--look here, sir--look here!"--and he pointed triumphantly to his crimson liquid.

"What is that, Mr Planner?" inquired the visitor.

"What? My blood, sir. I opened a vein the very day they hanged him. I suspected it all along, and there it is. There is more arsenic there, sir, than they found in the entire carcass of that man. Arsenic! Why, it's a prime ingredient in the blood. This it is to live in the clouds. Talk of dark ages--when shall we get light?"

"Of course you were not. How should you be? It is the interest of the ruling powers to darken the intellect of society. Why am I kept down? Why don't I prosper? Why don't my works sell? Ah, Allcraft--put that small pamphlet in your pocket--there it is--under the model--take care what you are about--don't break it--there, that's right! What is it called?"

"Popular delusions."

"None."

"No. I should think not. Michael, I must say it, though the old gentleman is dead, he was one of the hardest fellows to move I ever met. He would have been smoke-dried--suffocated, years ago, if it hadn't been for me. I was the first man that ever sent smoke up that chimney. Nobody could do it, sir. A fellow came from London, tried, and failed."

"It is a pity, Mr Planner, that, with abilities like yours, you have not been more successful in life. Pardon me if I say that success would have made you a quieter and a happier man."

"Ah, Michael, so your father used to say! Well, I don't know--people are such fools. They will not think for themselves, and they are ready to crush any one who offers to think for them. It has ever been so. Men in advance of their generation have always fared badly. Ages ago they were put to death cruelly and violently. Now they are left to starve, and die. The creatures are ignorant, but they are worse than that; they are selfish and jealous, and will rather sit in gloom, than owe light, and confess they owe it, to a fellow mortal and a superior spirit."

"I am afraid, Mr Planner, after such an observation, that you will hardly give me credit for the feeling which has induced me to visit you this morning."

"You are a good fellow, Michael. You were always a generous-hearted lad--an exception to the general rule. When you were five years old, you used to share your biscuits with me. It was a fine trait in your character. Proceed."

"You are aware, Mr Planner, that through my father's death increased responsibilities have come upon me."

"I have for some time past determined to associate with me in the bank, two gentlemen of noble fortunes and the first respectability. I would not willingly carry on the concern alone, and the accession of two such gentlemen as I describe, cannot but be in every way desirable."

"Humph--go on."

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