76 THE HISTORY OF A SOUL. into his carriage were alert and brisk. The body seemed no incumbrance, but merely the willing and expert servitor of the soul. He drove briskly, but a traveller on foot who caught only a glimpse of his countenance, as the carriage met and rapidly passed him on the road, kept wondering who the stranger was; and when the tired wayfarer sat him down to rest beneath the shade, his fancy pictured to him ever and again that same noble, pleasant face, gladdened by the sunshine of a joyous soul, which played so gracefully around the lip, and on the cheek and brow. Hubert drove on, but when he was somewhat beyond the village, the reins slackened, and he mused on his rising fortunes thus, as thriving men are apt to do: "My practice is every day increasing-my fees are large-I am already more than comfortable I shall soon be rich-my children will not begin life as I did." Ah! the beginning of his life-what electric power has such a common thought, that it rouses and quickens the soul like the touch of kindling fire? His revery is broken, and he no longer meditates abstractedly on earthly gains. He is awake, and feels himself in the presence of God, whose invisible hand has led him along the journey of life by so wonderful a way, and conducted him to that day, that very hour, and to those circumstances and conditions of his earthly being. He was glad, but he was also full of profound gratitude and holy awe-full of awe, because he felt that God his Creator, in whose actual presence he then fully realized himself to be, was working out these destinies for him. He honored not himself as the architect of his own fortunes. It is true that he gazed admiringly, and rejoiced at the sight of the noble fabric, where Heaven's own handiwork shone so fair beneath the reflection of Heaven's own light; but he worshipped not the gods of gold, and wood, and stone, neither said he in his heart, like an impious one of old, "Is not this great Babylon that I have builded by the might of my power, and for the honor of my majesty?" Hubert lifted up his eyes to the heavens above, all radiant with sunshine; he cast them abroad over the verdant fields. His ear opened and took in the music of bird-voices, pouring out their melodies from amidst the umbrage of spreading trees. The least precious of the senses woke too in that hour, and he was conscious that he breathed in the aroma of opening buds and blooms; and while the loveliness of nature lay thus outspread before him and grate fully saluted every sense, his mind imaged before him its dearer self, "his soul's far better part," and the children of that sweet love, till his heart swelling with joy unutterable, actually became incredulous of so much earthly bliss. He strove to realize his own happiness and vainly tried to measure it to his own mind. Overwhelmed with a sense of the goodness of the Infinite, he uttered his thanksgivings in the words of Israel's king: "O God, my heart is fixed. I will sing and give praise, even with my glory. Awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early. I will praise thee, O Lord, among the people, and I will sing praises unto thee among the nations. For thy mercy is great above the heavens, and thy truth reacheth unto the clouds." And the voice of that lowworded worship chimed in harmoniously with the sounds which Nature uttered in the ear of God. Calm, subdued and happy, Hubert arrived at the gate of his own home. Ellen had cradled the younger child, and put it to sleep with the low soft music of her voice; and was now employed, with the elder by her side, on the shady side of the house, in training the vine which climbed over the nursery window. She was at the gate before Hubert had stepped from his carriage, and observed with surprise as she took his arm that a tear trembled in his eyes, though his face looked glad and happy; and though she wondered, delicacy did not allow her to remark it, till he brushed it away as an intruder, and smiled lovingly upon her. Then she said caressingly, "What is the matter, my dear Hubert ? What means that tear? It somehow strangely contradicts your face." My sweet Ellen," said he, "it is not a tear, if tears betoken sadness. It is the irrepressible outgush and overflowing of a fountain of happiness within, I cannot contain; of a gratitude to Heaven I cannot express in words. God is so good and you make me so happy, Ellen, and the world does so smile on me-all unworthy as I now am, so wicked and hardened in skepticism as I have been, more than you know or even can conceive of, unless I should relate the wretched experiences of the two dark years which followed my graduating, and my introduction to your father's house. You know, dear Ellen, every event of my external life, and the efforts I have made to win you, and the obstacles, once deemed insurmountable, which my own right hand removed to reach you; not that you were unwilling to give me your hand with your heart in it, for you were ever kind THE SHIPWRECK. and good, my love; but others interposed between our loves and us. All this you know, but you can never know what struggles mentally I then endured; for I would not, now that all is over, cloud your pure glad spirit for a moment with the dark story of my inner life during that long agony, when none knew me, none pitied, none aided me. But no, happiness has made me forgetful and ungrateful; for my own dear cousin Anna, who, next to yourself, Ellen, is the woman dearest to me on earth, came to me then you sent her, but with her own yearning heart of Christlike purity and tenderness she came to soothe and comfort me. She sat herself down by my side, all cold and dead as I was to this world. Yes, absolutely dead and buried in my own sullen griefs; for I had then well nigh forgotten you, Ellen, and our love. I could have even hated you, if that had been possible, to escape the anguish of the hopeless love I bore you. Yes, she came and sat beside me; and I have never since placed 77 myself at the bedside of a human sufferer, and held the sick hand in mine to feel the fluttering pulse-beat, that I have not remembered that hour, and the healing which she brought me then from Heaven. Oh, Ellen! you cannot know how those blessed words of hope sank like grateful rain from Heaven into my parched and fevered soul; and then her tone and look when she said, 'Hubert, I love you with inexpressible soft pity.' 'Twas like a ray of heavenly sunshine, shot suddenly athwart a subterranean dungeon's gloom.” While Ellen replied, husband and wife entered arm in arm that happy Christian home; and its opened door, never inhospitable before, closed firm against my Ariel, who straightway flew across the wide waste of Ocean's waters, bringing me this last leaf of my story-this excerpt, torn from that chapter of the world's unwritten history which contains the records of a soul, which first doubted, then suffered, repented and believed, and thus was SAVED. THE SHIPWRECK. BY JUNIUS. A VESSEL on the deep blue sea was gliding On board that vessel joyous hearts were biding, Buoyant and free, the merry hours dividing Youthful and old were each to each confiding, Hope was the helmsman of the good ship, guiding While Bacchus, o'er the inner court presiding, Peacefully were the waves of ocean swelling Wavelet seemingly unto wavelet spelling, The whisp'ring breezes from their secret dwelling ে 78 THE SHIPWRECK. The snowy canvas of that glad bark swelling, While over all, and as if all excelling, Looked down in quiet loveliness, foretelling Lo! in the distance, like a speck appearing, Slowly at first its misty form uprearing, Gathers in strength the placid zenith nearing, Beneath its folds the sailor never fearing The unchained winds now madly are careering, While vapors dank, their course no longer veering, Sternly was now that vessel's master eyeing Firm as a rock his brave heart, self-relying, While ever to his anxious gaze replying, Tells that the tempest, with a strength undying, Mirth and the dance have given place to sighing; Alas! too soon! Blanched are the cheeks which were but lately vieing The gale has passed-the sombre clouds are stealing Hushed are the turbid waves-the mist revealing The elements, their fierce contention healing, Alas! the storm-king, with a breast unfeeling, The fate of that frail vessel hath been sealing, A helpless prey— The deep-toned thunder in the distance pealing Dansville, N. Y. ELSINORE. BY REV. E. E. ADAMS. HAVRE, FRANCE, February 18th, 1848. If the traveller would visit Elsinore from Copenhagen, he can do so by the morning post. Passing from the city through the ancient gate, you are at once relieved from narrow, dirty streets, the everlasting noise of men, and steeds and chariots, and the dismal roll of the soldier's drum, by the soft and quiet scenery. No cloudcapt mountain stands in the enchantment of distance before you; no mighty torrent leaps and thunders down the cliff, to pour its hushed waters along the vale; no boundless forest lifts its ancient trunks, nor spreads its beaten boughs to the storm; but trees of richest foliage adorn the bastions and hang over the moat, casting their shadows over the silvery waters; gardens, bright with roses and dew-drops, and rich with every useful herb, smile and breathe their odors; gentle hills, crowned with parks, from the centre of which rise the mansions of Danish nobles, and on one of which, the most distant, is a palace embosomed in shades, present an inviting aspect; whilst the royal highway, adorned on either side with choice trees, and kept in perfect order, enables you to glide onward with pleasure and rapidity. The ride to Elsinore occupies three hours through a region well cultivated, and presenting features not unlike those of English scenery, but not broken by the innovating hand of art; no puffing and smoking engine marring the beauty of nature, or disturbing the peaceful calm of the simple peasants. The swamps with which this island abounds furnish great quantities of peat, which is an article of traffic with the husbandman, and of comf to all classes. It is cut from the swamps in dry seasons and exposed in heaps to the sun ar wind; when sufficiently dried it is taken i the country waggons to the towns for fuel. There is nothing in the town of Elsinore to excite the attention of a stranger. The streets are narrow, and dwellings decaying. It is situated on the Sound, in latitude 56° N. and longitude 12° 28' E. It was a small village of fishermen's huts until 1445, when Eric, king of Pomerania, gave it the dignity of a town, conferred many privileges on the inhabitants, and built a castle for their protection. Its increase has been gradual, the population at present being only seven thousand. Among these are numbers of foreign merchants, many pilots, and a few artisans who excel in the manufacture of jewelry. The passage of the sound is guarded by the fortress of Cronburg, situated on a promontory, opposite which is distinctly seen the coast of Sweden, at a distance of only four miles. This fortress is fortified towards the town by walls and intrenchments, and toward the sea by batteries mounted with sixty cannon, of which the largest are fortyeight pounders. It was anciently very richly furnished, but in 1658 the Swedes pillaged it, taking all its furniture, among which were some statues of massive silver. Every vessel that passes lowers her topsails and pays a toll at Elsinore. This toll is paid from precedent, as a reward to the Danish government for the support of light-houses and signals to mark the shoals and rocks in the Cattegat. The number of vessels annually passing the sound is from sixteen to twentytwo thousand, and the toll, until within a few years, amounted to a million dollars yearly. The right to this toll had long been questioned, and in 1844 some English merchants interested the British Parliament in the matter, the result of which was a reduction. So valuable was this revenue to the Danish nation, that Elsinore has been called "the king of Denmark's gold mine." Vessels are often detained at this port by head winds, when its streets are thronged by seamen, for whose welfare no one is concerned. A few years since a house of worship was erected by the English government, for the benefit of the Scotch and English residents in Elsinore, but it subsequently came into the pos session of a Dane, who rented it to a dancing master for his school! The castle is an object of great interest from its historic and romantic associations. It is an ancient building of grit-stone, inclosing a square area capable of containing twenty thou sand men. It has numerous towers, one of which is an observatory, and serves as a beacon, commanding a view of the sound, of the Norwegian mountains, and the coast of Sweden with its flourishing towns. The Princess Mati'da was imprisoned in this castle. The only amusement she had was that of tracing on the windows flowers and other objects, together with the portraits of her parents and friends, and to ascend the tower to look at evening, by the moonlight, over the sea whither all she loved had gone. She was finally rescued by the English. Shakspeare selected this castle as the scene of his "Hamlet." Standing in front of the castle at night in the keen wind that sweeps over the sound, and listening to the solemn murmur of the waves, you will readily appreciate the feelings of the poor soldier Francisco, when being ordered to bed by his officer, he exclaimed: "For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, Under the castle is a dismal cellar into which light is admitted through cylindrical excavations like wells. This cellar, according to a superstitious tradition, was, for centuries, the abode of a mysterious being-the terror of all Denmark. His name was Ogier, or "Halgar Danské: "Dane in the cellar." He sat, it is said, over a marble table with his elbows upon it, until his beard had grown down and taken root in the solid slab. The bravest dared not enter his subterranean 66 "I dare!" said the slave, knowing that I have nothing to lose if it please you to destroy me, but if you permit me to return, I am free." "It is well," replied the voice; "there are yet men in Denmark." It is not improbable that a knowledge of this tradition assisted the great poet in his conception of the ghost whom he represents as appearing by night to the officer Marcellus, and to Bernardo and Horatio, friends of Hamlet, and afterwards to Hamlet himself, as his father's spirit, declaring "I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word To ears of flesh and blood :-list, list, oh! list- The royal palace is about half a mile from Cronburg castle, and adjoining it, a garden called Hamlet's garden, said, by tradition, to be the very spot where his father was murdered. The mansion, neither spacious nor elegant, stands at the foot of a sand ridge, near the sca. The garden occupies the hill-side together with a small area below. The hill is laid out in terraces adorned with the common shrubs and flowers of a garden, and on the angles stand a few indifferent statues. |