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Read Ebook: Graham's Magazine Vol. XX No. 6 June 1842 by Various Graham George R Editor
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Ebook has 278 lines and 28874 words, and 6 pages
flowing robes, which shade, but not conceal, All that the classic chisel would reveal. In thy supremacy thou stand'st sublime, Bidding defiance to the scythe of time!
The thought of thee is like the breath of morn, Which whispers gently through the blooming trees; Like music o'er the sparkling waters borne, When the blue waves heave in the summer breeze.
We have faithfully performed our unpleasant duty in the foregoing criticism. A high standard has been set up by us, and it must be defended. Censure is far less agreeable to us than commendation; but the last would be wholly valueless, when flowing from our pen, were we always to withhold the first. Poetry, to be acceptable, must have higher qualities than those which the mere habit and practice of writing confers. A man may play very well on the piano and not be a musician; he may sketch very well and not be a painter; he may model very well and have no just claim to be called a sculptor. The maker of graceful stanzas is not a poet; he is at best entitled only to be called a person of accomplishments. He is inexcusable when he brings himself prominently before the public and claims to be ranked among artists. Women, more than men, cultivate their powers of taste. We know many of the sex who not only sing and sketch, but write very nice verses. They would, however, shrink from publicity with a sensitive dread of ridicule. For the sake of a pure literature this apprehension should be kept alive by an occasional article, like the one which we have felt ourselves impelled to present on the effusions of Mrs. Katharine Augusta Ware.
LOVE AND PIQUE;
OR, SCENES AT A WATERING-PLACE.
BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.
THE VENTILATOR.
"Mine be a cot beside a hill; A beehive's hum shall soothe mine ear; A willowy brook that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near.
The swallow oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, To share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing, In russet gown and apron blue.
The village church, amid the trees, Where first our marriage vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze And point, with taper spire, to Heaven."
It was certainly a most appropriate and delicately expressed choice for such a lover of natural beauty and quiet happiness as Miss Laura Oriel.
The apartments to which Miss Oriel and her mother had been conducted happened to be immediately opposite to the one already occupied by Mr. Forrester. The ventilators of both were open, and, as he heard her voice, he felt a sweet satisfaction in the thought, that the soft southern breeze which was cooling his brow also fanned the ringlets of his beautiful mistress. But really there was no excuse for his listening to her conversation; it was most ungentlemanlike, but at the same time, I am sorry to say, most natural; and though heartily ashamed of him for so doing, I am obliged to confess that he paid the closest attention to every word of their discourse.
"How long do you want to stay here, Laura?" said the mother, in that wheezing sort of voice which belongs to fat, pursy old ladies when over-fatigued.
"That will depend upon circumstances," was the short and rather crusty reply.
"Do you know they charge twelve dollars a week, and every bath is an extra expense?"
"What of that? We must risk something in all speculations, and mine is a pretty safe venture."
"I wish we had left Ellen Grey at home."
"I don't agree with you; we owe her some return for staying nearly three months with her at Norwood, and I cannot bear to be under an obligation to such mighty good sort of people, for they never forget it."
"But her board will be expensive, and I do not see why it would not have been as well to invite her to our house in the winter."
"You don't seem to understand my plans, Mamma. Ellen Grey is pretty, and modest, and sentimental, and all that; she is just the kind of person to be very attractive to gentlemen when seen in domestic life, but she is too timid to appear well in a place like this. She will scarcely dare to raise her eyes in such a crowd, and therefore there can be no rivalry between us. Besides, she has a great deal of taste, and her assistance at my toilet enables me to dispense with a dressing maid."
"I cannot see much force in your argument."
"Perhaps not; what would you say if I tell you I want her as a foil?"
"She is too pretty to serve such a purpose."
"You are greatly mistaken; any body would look well beside an ugly girl, but one must be exceedingly beautiful to bear a comparison with as pretty a creature as Ellen Grey. Her delicate complexion, which is continually suffused with blushes, her fair hair and blue eyes would appear lovelier any where else than they will beside me."
"Such beauty as yours requires no foil, Laura."
"I choose to employ one, notwithstanding; I have come here for the express purpose of attracting Fitzroy Beauchamp, and I mean to neglect nothing, however trifling, to compass my schemes."
"What will Cecil Forrester say?"
"If I succeed, he may say what he pleases. I mean to play off my present lover against the future one; and Cecil will be of use to me by exciting the jealousy of Beauchamp."
"I declare you are too bad, Laura."
"I only mean to study your interest and my own, Mamma. Cecil Forrester was a delightful companion in the country, his enthusiasm was so well adapted to the time and place, that it seemed to give charms to the dull and stupid village, which it could not otherwise have possessed. I certainly played my part to perfection, indeed, I almost began to fancy that there was really some feeling in my acting; at any rate he has the most implicit faith in my sensibility. How often I have laughed over the love-sick youth's rural wish! I think I see myself as
'Lucy at her spinning-wheel, In russet gown and apron blue.'"
"I wonder how you kept up the farce so long, Laura; even Ellen thinks you a most exemplary sentimentalist."
"Are you sure Mr. Beauchamp is rich?"
"He drives blood-horses, sports a tiger in livery, lives at the Astor, drinks wine at a bottle, and, what is more, pays his bills."
"How did you learn this?"
"From very good authority; he is said to have 0,000 in bank stocks besides a sugar plantation worth ,000 per annum, and slaves enough to stock a colony; so you see he is a prize worth winning. As for Cecil Forrester, I am sorry he is here, but I must manage to turn him over to the unsophisticated little rustic for the present. I do not wish to give him a downright dismissal, because if I should fail to secure the millionaire it would be as well to fall back upon Forrester's ,000. The game will be a difficult one, but the glory of success will be the greater."
"I hope you will reap some of the spoils of victory, Laura, for our legacy is rapidly diminishing, and when it is gone you know there will be no further chance."
"Never fear, Mamma; my stock in trade is very good--beauty, tact, and five thousand dollars form a very excellent capital, and I think I can afford to speculate rather largely."
"But more than half of the most essential part of your capital is already gone, and you have not as yet succeeded."
"You forget that I have gained a footing in society by its expenditure; leave every thing to me, and if I am not married before next season, then write me down a fool."
THE DINING-ROOM.
Is there any thing more musical to the ear of the time-sick lounger at a fashionable watering-place than the dinner-bell? Talk of the melody of running streams, the sighing of summer winds, the carol of forest birds! they may be all very pleasant sounds in certain moods of the mind, but for a music which never fails to please, a sound which never falls wearily upon the senses, a voice which is never uttered to a listless ear, commend me to that dinner-bell. The dullest face brightens into something like intelligence, the most confirmed valetudinarian forgets all elegant debility, the most intellectual remember the pressing claims of the physical man, and the most refined of women venture to look somewhat interested in the vulgar duty of dining. The saloon was crowded with company all eager for the summons which was to transform them into eating animals.
It was not until just before quitting the table that Miss Oriel allowed herself to see any one in the room. She raised her large soft eyes languidly and beheld, what she had for some time known, that her young friend Ellen was familiarly chatting with Cecil Forrester. A graceful bend of her fair neck and a most lovely smile marked her consciousness of his presence, while Cecil, with a polite but rather careless bow continued his conversation with Miss Grey; being incited to show her peculiar attention by his consciousness that she, as well as himself, was designed to be the tool of the selfish beauty. Miss Oriel was too well schooled to exhibit any surprise at his cool manner, and as her principal object was to attract the attention of Mr. Beauchamp, she gave herself no further thought about the matter at that time.
THE PIAZZA.
Two weeks passed away, during which time Miss Oriel had shown her skill in female tactics by managing to secure the attentions of Mr. Beauchamp, while she had transferred Cecil to Ellen Grey until she should be able to decide upon his future fate. One evening, Cecil, who had long known and admired Mrs. Dale, invited her to walk with him on the piazza, that they might witness the effect of moonlight upon the distant sea.
"I am indebted to Miss Grey's headache for this invitation," said Mrs. Dale, laughing, as she took his arm; "had she been in the saloon my eyes would never have been thus favored with a moonlight scene."
Forrester entered a disclaimer against the lady's assertion, and a playful conversation ensued, when Mrs. Dale, suddenly changing the topic, said:
"Pray tell me, Mr. Forrester, if Mr. Beauchamp is so immensely rich?"
"Not understanding your premises I cannot clearly comprehend your deductions," said Mrs. Dale playfully.
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