Part 5

“_Too late!_ oh, lost forever! The hour approaches; come near.” Drawing from under his pillow a parchment, he placed it in the hands of the monk. “My confession, father; _now_, now, sign me with the cross.” Uttering a wild cry of anguish, the dying man, with desperate energy, flung himself towards the monk, and attempted to grasp the symbol of salvation. . . . . . A vivid, lurid gleam, followed by an astounding crash, mingled with horrid yells and piercing screams! When the monk was found by a lay brother, he still breathed, but unconscious of external objects, from which state he never recovered; the bed was empty, and the bedclothes lay in wild disorder, as if torn by a mighty struggle. In the hand of the prostrate monk was found a manuscript:

THE CONFESSION OF THE LOST.

Upon the confines of the Hartz Mountains, in a lowly hut, I first saw the light. My mother yielded up her life in giving me birth, and the nourishment of a pet goat sustained the feeble spark of infancy. My remaining parent proved, though rough and uncultivated, a kind nurse. The hours of childhood were passed in assisting my father in collecting dried wood for burning charcoal, and oft, as I penetrated through the tangled forest, would I stand and gaze upon the clear blue flame that night after night arose from one of the highest peaks, and though an ague would creep over me at the recollection of some of the tales of horror that clothed those mountains in such fearful dread, still an unconquerable desire to witness their midnight orgies grew with my growth and strengthened with my strength.

About two hundred feet from the base of the loftiest of that extended chain of mountains, jutted out a perpendicular rock. Upon the summit stood the castle of Rudolfo, whose weather-beaten battlements had for ages frowned defiance upon the plain below. Dark hints and mysterious whispers surrounded that isolated spot with gloom and fear; no footsteps ever approached its portals after sundown, and an Ave Maria was silently, though fervently breathed, when the benighted hunter or weary traveller caught a glimpse of the solitary light that was ever seen in one of the casements of the castle.

Count Rudolph was a man of valor; his arm was held invincible in the battle field; but of a temperament morose and savage, his vassals quailed beneath the glance of his bright gray eye, and trembled when the sound of his loud clear voice rang through the vaulted halls. Among the dependants that sat at his board below the salt, or rallied around his banner, were hearts that thirsted to bury their daggers in his blood; but the mantle of superstitious mystery so completely enveloped him, that the hand, however daring, shrunk from the murderous deed.

The iron-bound features of Count Rudolph never relaxed, save when his looks rested upon his daughter. Then would the contracted brow expand, and those eyes so formidable emit a ray of feeling. He seldom smiled, but the effect was startling; a meteor, dazzling by its brightness, to render the darkness more visible. And that daughter was a glorious creature! The tall, graceful form, the dark hazel eyes, commanded the allegiance of all that looked upon her. To her father her features bore a strong resemblance, but moulded in the most perfect female softness.

The lady Auzella was seldom seen beyond the boundaries of the castle, but the report of her wondrous beauty had spread far over Germany, and many a valiant knight had sued in vain for her fair hand, notwithstanding the vague and strange reports that were ever afloat about Count Rudolph and his unhallowed deeds.

It was my twentieth birthday. The hours of labor were exchanged for hunting, a pastime of which I was most fond. So intent was I in chasing the chamois and hungry wolves that infest those regions, I thought not of the departure of day, until warned by the declining sun shedding its golden rays through the “forest’s thickening gloom.” An unconquerable feeling of dread at being thus benighted, caused me to hasten my footsteps towards my humble cot. With a steady eye and nervous limbs, I bounded over the impetuous stream that rolls down the mountain side, and springing from crag to crag, I emerged from the dense shadow of trees, and stood upon a platform of rock overgrown with moss and stunted oak.

Involuntarily I lingered to gaze upon the scene before me. The whole country glowed with the effulgence of the setting sun, whilst the amphitheatre of hills that bounded the horizon was clothed in gorgeous purple. On the right stood the castle, its turrets and towers catching the lingering sunbeams, bringing them out in bold relief from the mass of frowning mountains that formed the back ground. The only sound that broke upon the ear was the incessant roar of the cataract. Whilst thus I stood entranced, a strain of music suddenly burst through the air, so wild, so melodious, that it seemed an echo from the spheres. Amazed, I listened breathlessly; again the same sweet notes were borne upon the gentle gales. I turned, when lo! beside the rushing torrent sat a female; her long tresses were floating upon the breeze, and revealed the features of the Lady Auzella! Ere the melting strains were ended that had held bound my soul, shrieking, affrighted, she fled towards me. With horror I beheld a huge bear spring from the overhanging crag, and stand within a foot of his prey. In one moment I took a sure and deadly aim—fired—the monster rolled head-long down the rapid stream; the next instant the fainting form of Auzella reposed within my arms! My fate was sealed; the past, the future, all, all were forgotten. We met again and again; I loved, ardently, madly, and was beloved! Yes! the high-born, haughty damsel loved the humble youth.

We lived in the spring-time of love; the cold, bleak winds of autumn had not yet chilled our hearts, when, with the impassioned fervor of affection, I besought the gentle Auzella to fly with me to other lands, where with my sword I would carve for myself a name worthy for her to share. Silently she listened, then raising her head from my bosom, fixed her expressive eyes upon me, and whispered, as soft as a zephyr’s sigh—

“Hast thou dear Carl, resolution to win fame and wealth, and, with my father’s consent, this hand?”

“Try me, beloved, and thou wilt find no braggart in thy lover.”

“Then, by thy vows of love, ere ‘yon moon fills her horn,’ pluck from the mountain’s blazing pile a firebrand; bear it with all speed to my father’s feet, and by that token fearlessly claim the hand of Auzella!”

She ceased, and fled from me. In that brief space a new existence burst upon my senses. The voice of love had pointed out the way to the possession of _gold_ and the hand of her whom I adored; but how? To league myself with devils! A cold shudder crept over me; within my breast raged a fearful struggle. It passed away, and, with the purpose of my soul determined, I awoke from the _dream_ of life to the reality of existence.

* * * * *

Strange, that man should shrink in after years from lifting the veil that has shadowed crimes recklessly committed in youth. Does he scorn and bid defiance to the eyes of Omnipotence, and tremble at the opinions of his fellow worms? How incongruous, but alas! how true!

Although years have rolled past—and time, as it has flown onward, has hurried with them into the vast abyss of eternity, pleasures, sins and sorrows—the events of that _fearful_ night, that fatal hour, are concentrated in one burning spot within my brain.

Like king Midas, the cravings of discontent proved my destruction. Destruction! aye, one endless chain of wretchedness, perpetuated through life, with no oblivion in the _grave_.

* * * * *

With desperate energy I braved the lightning’s lurid gleam, and heeded not the tempest that raged around me. As I bent my footsteps towards the ever-burning flame, sounds, as if from the abyss of Hades, burst upon my ear. I stood palsied with horror, and as a bright flash burst through the gloom, shrieks and wild laughter rang through the air, and revealed my presence! “Ah! standest thou there to mock me, thou fiend, thou devil? Hurl not reason _yet_ from its tottering throne! Begone!”

The hour was past, the trophy _gained_, my bride _won_; but an _oath_ was taken that is engraved upon my heart with a firebrand, and ever thrills my frame with anguish—with never-ceasing torture!

How shall I unravel the tangled thread of my after life? Shall I dwell upon the hour that called Auzella _mine_?—the joy I felt as I clasped my beautiful, my adored _wife_ to my heart, notwithstanding the dark flash from Count Rudolph’s eyes? A brief state of happiness was mine—an oasis in the wilderness of life.

I _now_ had gold unbounded. We left the frowning castle for the gay metropolis. The mountain boy was no longer the shy boor, but the wealthy _noble_ and the crafty man.

Once launched upon the ocean of dissipation, I trimmed my sails to catch the breeze of pleasure, and thought not of the whirlpools that surrounded me; when, one night, in the midst of a gay revel, whilst the sparkling cup and the merry jest passed freely round the festive board, a touch of _fire_, a whisper which penetrated my very soul, reminded me of my _oath_—that _fearful oath_! Then fled the scene of enchantment, the faces of beauty, the chrystal lights, and the music, breathing its soft strains through the fragrant air; and, in the mind’s eye, the burning mountain, the horrid yells of demoniacal laughter, were beheld with frightful distinctness.

* * * * *

_Murder my friend!_—the companion of my midnight revels, the sharer of my pleasures—_never!_ But thine oath! Ah! then did I feel the serpent’s sting; his envenomed coil compressed every fibre of my defenceless body; no escape from his toils. I had voluntarily _sold myself_ to the demon of the burning mountain!

Out upon it! why quakes this feeble frame as the hour approaches when I shall “throw off this mortal coil?” Can tortures be greater than what I do and _ever will_ suffer? Why not snap asunder the cord at once?

But the deed was _done_, and _then_ deeper did I plunge into the vortex of vice, for the slight barrier of conscience was broken down, and I moved through the gazing crowd an envied man. Ah, ah, envied! How little dreamed the gaping fools of the livid spot _within_. But, amidst the volcano that was consuming me, burned one pure flame—the shrine on which it was kindled was still unpolluted—my love for Auzella. She was my day-star, my dream of all that was pure. Her smile would chase the demon from my breast, and lull me into forgetfulness.

But the cup of misery that I had tasted was not yet drained. Jealousy mingled with its bitter dregs, and poisoned my blood and shot through every vein.

Suddenly there appeared among us a youth of striking mien and of great beauty, though of a wild and singular aspect. He was ever with Auzella! I chased from my breast the dark thoughts that would sometimes enter. With the madness of despair, I bore her to the gloomy castle where dwelt her father. She murmured not at thus being torn from scenes of festive mirth to hours of dreary sadness; her eyes still sparkled with their wonted fire. We visited the spot where first I dared breathe my aspiring hopes, and as I folded her to my breast again, I told her how dear she still was to me.

Count Rudolph had become more morose, and seldom went beyond the castle walls. He seemed to take no pleasure in the presence of his child, and when I encountered the glance of his eye fixed upon me, a strange, undefinable sensation would creep over me: a vague recollection of scenes gone by. Thus passed four long, weary weeks. For me were no dreams of the future, no surveying of the past; all, all was a chaos of guilt and dread.

Twice, in the still hour of midnight, did I miss Auzella from my side. At first I heeded it not, but as thought pressed upon thought, my brain became maddened; horrible suspicions crept over me. Grasping my pistols, I fled from the castle, and, without one definite object, I strode hastily towards _that_ fatal spot. The same wild yells met my ear, and, by the clear blue flame, I beheld a scene of sickening horror!—while I think upon it, my brain becomes frenzied—but I must relieve the tortures of this breast by tracing my sum of misery.

Aye! I beheld a motley group sitting around the fire, who, with shouts of laughter and demoniacal gestures, were tearing asunder a human frame, a fresh victim! There was a pause, when a voice arose upon the stillness that sent my blood curdling to my heart; I looked, and saw _my wife_, and by her side that stranger youth! Slowly I moved my hand towards my pistol, and, setting my teeth, grasped it firmly. Another voice rang through the air, and there sat Count Rudolph, the demon of the burning mountain; well did I remember, by that light, those unhallowed eyes and _that smile_. The glance was but momentary, for revenge was heaving my bosom almost to bursting. There sat the only object on earth that was dear to me; for _her_ I had bartered my _soul_, and there she was, in seeming fellowship with devils. Ages of misery were crowded in that moment. She turned, and smiled upon the beardless boy. Nature could endure no longer—I fired! Loud yells and horrid imprecations mingled with the thunder’s roar; one fierce scream was borne upon the blast, and, from the spot where sat Auzella, up rose a _vulture_! For a moment she hovered near me; I saw the crimson blood stream from its breast, and casting a look upon me, (which, by day and night, haunts the deepest spot in memory’s waste,) flapped her broad wings, and was soon lost in the impenetrable gloom.

* * * * *

Darkness fell upon me; reason was lost amid the breakers of despair. A wreck, deserted by Hope, within my heart is the torch of anguish, kindled at the funeral pile of Vice.

E.

* * * * *

THOUGHTS IN SPRING.

BY HENRY B. HIRST.

It is the spring time. Varied flowers are sending Their new-born odors on the sighing breeze, The sun its brightness from the sky is lending, Flinging its kisses to the budding trees, And Nature, lovely Nature fair doth seem, As the creation of a poet’s dream.

The robin’s mellow strain in wild notes gushes From the snow blossoms of the apple tree; The cat-bird’s scolding from the leafy bushes, The wren’s low music thrilling comes to me, Seeming the hymns of Nature freely given, As stainless offerings of its praise to Heaven.

Earth is a sea of verdure. Blossoms springing All gem-like dewy from the velvet sod, Like whispered melody their perfume flinging, Earth’s altar’d incense rising up to God,— Whose word I read in there as in his book, When e’er their beauties meet my eager look.

Thro’ laughing verdure silvery is straying, Reflecting, mirror-like, the pure calm sky, A babbling stream, o’er rock and lichen playing, Sweet as the softness of a loved one’s sigh— Floating along with harmony as rife As pass the hours in some bright day of life.

The river far away is calmly stealing, Thro’ its green banks all glittering with light, Like beaming fancies in the poet’s feeling, Who worships ever all that’s fair and bright; Creating images that living start Warm from the gushings of his burning heart.

Yes! this is spring time, mild and glorious spring, When earth is like a paradise, and gay With birds, and buds, and flowers, and everything, Whose beauties serve to gild awhile life’s clay. Bidding hearts revel in enjoyment wild, Making one happy even as a child.

* * * * *

SCHOOL-BOY RECOLLECTIONS.

A FROLIC AMONG THE LAWYERS.—A SCENE FROM LIFE.

BY T. W. THOMAS, AUTHOR OF “HOWARD PINCKNEY,” ETC.

I was born in New Orleans. I had very bad health there in my early childhood, and “My Aunt Betsey,” of whom I have before spoken, took a voyage by sea from Baltimore to the “crescent city,” for the purpose of returning with me to a climate which the physicians had said would strengthen my constitution.

She brought me up with the greatest kindness, or rather, I should say she kept me comparatively feeble by her over-care of my health. When I was about fourteen years of age, my father brought my mother and my little sister Virginia on from New Orleans to see me. My meeting with my kind mother I shall never forget. She held me at arms’ length for an instant, to see if she could recognise, in the chubby, healthy boy before her, the puny, sickly child with whom she had parted with such fond regret on board the Carolina, but a few years before; and when, in memory and in heart, she recognized each lineament, she clasped me to her bosom with a wild hysteric joy which compensated her, more than compensated her, she said, for all the agony which our separation had caused her. I loved my mother devotedly, yet I wondered at the emotion which she exhibited at our meeting, and, child though I was, a sense of unworthiness came over me, possibly because my affections could not sound the depths of hers.

My father’s recognition was kinder than I had expected, from what I remembered of our parting in New Orleans. He felt prouder of me than at our parting, I presume, from my improved health and looks, and this made him feel that my being tied to the apron strings of my good old aunt would not improve my manliness. A gentleman whom he had met at a dinner party, who was the principal of an academy, a kind of miniature college, some thirty miles from Baltimore, had impressed my father, by his disquisitions, with a profound respect for such a mode of education.

“William,” said my father, in speaking on the subject to Mr. Stetson, “will be better there than here among the women; he’ll be a baby forever here. No, I must make a man of him. I shall take him next week with me, and leave him in the charge of Mr. Sears.” My mother insisted upon it that I should stay awhile longer, that she might enjoy my society, and that my sister and myself might become attached to each other ere they returned to New Orleans. But my father said, “No, my dear; you know it was always agreed between us that you should bring up Virginia as you pleased, and that I would bring up William as I pleased.”

“Let us take him, then, back to New Orleans,” exclaimed my mother; “he is healthy enough now.”

“But he would not be healthy long there, my dear. No, I have made inquiry: Mr. Sears is an admirable man, and under his care, which I am satisfied will be paternal, William will improve in mind, and learn to be a man—will you not, William?”

I could only cling to my mother without reply.

“There,” exclaimed my father, exultingly, “you see the effect of his education thus far.”

“The effect of his education thus far!” retorted my aunt Betsey, who did not relish my father’s remark; “he has been taught to say his prayers, and to love his parents and tell the truth. You see the effects in him now,” and she pointed to me, seated on a stool by my mother.

All this made no impression upon my father. He was resolved that I should go to Belle Air, the county town, situated twenty-five miles from Baltimore, where the school was, the next week, and he so expressed himself decidedly.

The condemned criminal, who counts the hours that speed to his execution, scarcely feels more horror at the rush of time than did I. One appalling _now_ seemed to possess me. I was deeply sensitive, and the dread of my loneliness away from all I loved, and the fear of the ridicule and tyranny of the oldsters, haunted me so that I could not sleep, and I have lain awake all night, picturing to myself what would be the misery of my situation at Belle Air. In fact, when the day arrived, I bade my mother, aunt Betsey and my little sister Virginia farewell with scarcely a consciousness, and was placed in the gig by my father as the stunned criminal is assisted into the fatal cart.

This over-sensitiveness—what a curse it is! I lay no claims to genius, and yet I have often thought it hard that I should have the quality which makes the “fatal gift” so dangerous, and not the gift. My little sister Virginia, who had been my playmate for weeks, cried bitterly when I left her. I dwelt upon her swimming eye with mine, tearless and stony as death. The waters of bitterness had gathered around my heart, but had not yet found an outlet from their icy thrall, ’neath which they flowed dark and deep.

Belle Air, at the time I write of, was a little village of some twenty-five or more houses, six of which were taverns. It was and is a county town, and court was regularly held there, to which the Baltimore lawyers used to flock in crowds; and many mad pranks have I known them play there for their own amusement, if not for the edification of the pupils of Mr. Sears.

My father drew up at Mr. Kenny’s tavern, and as it was about twelve when we arrived, and the pupils were dismissed to dinner, he sent his card to the principal, who in a few minutes made his appearance. Talk of a lover watching the movements and having impressed upon his memory the image of her whom he loveth!—the schoolboy has a much more vivid recollection of his teacher. Mr. Sears was a tall, stout man, with broad stooping shoulders, he carried a large cane, and his step was as decided as ever was Doctor Busby’s, who would not take his hat off when the king visited his school, for the reason, as he told his majesty afterwards, that if his scholars thought that there was a greater man in the kingdom than himself, he never could control them. The face of Mr. Sears resembled much the likeness of Alexander Hamilton, though his features were more contracted, and his forehead had nothing like the expansion of the great statesman; yet it projected very similarly at the brows. He welcomed my father to the village with great courtesy, and me to his pupilage with greater dignity. He dined with my father, with me by his side, and every now and then he would pat me on the head and ask me a question. I stammered out monosyllabic answers, when the gentleman would address himself again to his plate with renewed gusto.

Mr. Sears recommended my father to board me at the house of a Mr. Hall, who had formerly been the sheriff of the county, and whose wife and daughters, he said, were very fine women. He repented, he said, when he first took charge of the academy, that there was not some general place attached to it where the pupils could board in common, but after reflection had taught him that to board them about among the towns-people would be as well. He remarked that I was one of his smallest pupils, but that he could look on me _in loco parentis_, and doubted not that he could make a man of me.