International Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science, Vol. 1

His mistress, in accents most bland—
Desired him to gather more glory
Poor Camille!

So back went the young cavalier,
(Where dwells such obedience now?)
And he wove amid pennant and spear,
A wreath for that fair cruel brow;
How crimson the roses he sent,
But not with the summer sun's glow;
'Twas the crimson of battle—and lent
By a brave heart forever laid low!
Now if such a lover I knew,
And if I might be his adviser,
I would bid him be tender and true,
But certainly bid him be wiser.
Poor Camille!

* * * * *

FROM PETRARCH

Weeping for all my long lost years, I go,
And for that love which to this world confined
A spirit whose strong flight, for heaven designed,
No mean example might one man bestow.
Thou, who didst view my wonderings and my woe,
Great King of heaven! unseen, immortal mind!
Succor this weary being, frail and blind;
And may thy grace o'er all my failings flow!
Then, though my life through warring tempests passed;
My death may tranquilly and slowly come;
And my calm soul may flee in peace at last:
While o'er that space which shuts me from the tomb,
And on my death-bed, be thy blessing cast—
From Thee, in trembling hope, I wait my doom.

* * * * *

    [From Bentley's Miscellany]

THE FEMALE WRECKER; AND THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY

A BRACE OF GHOST STORIES

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE EXPERIENCES OF A GAOL CHAPLAIN."

It was a glorious summer's evening in July. The sun, robed in a thousand hues of gorgeous brilliancy, was setting behind the noble hill which towers over the little hamlet of Shaldon; light pleasure-skiffs, with tiny sail, were dotted over the bay;[20 - Teignmouth, Devon.] the ebb tide was gently laving the hissing strand; and at intervals, wafted by the breeze, came from some merry party afloat, a ringing, joyous laugh, or some slight snatch of song. It was an evening which breathed serenity and repose.

Seated on one of the benches which skirt that pleasant promenade[21 - The Denne.] were two feeble-looking men, with whom the summer of life had apparently passed. They conversed slowly and at intervals. That the theme interested both was clear from the earnest tone of the one, and the attention rendered by the other. It was connected too in some way with the sea: for, from time to time, the speaker paused and eyed wistfully the slumbering monster at his feet; and more than once the ejaculation was audible—"the secret is buried there!"

"And you believe this?" said the listener, half incredulously, half respectfully, when his elderly companion ceased.

"I do—firmly."

The other smiled, and then continued in a lower tone—

"All delusion! the result of a heated fancy—all delusion from beginning to end!"

"What is delusion?" said a tall military-looking figure, striding up and joining the group. "We all have, at one period or other of our lives, to battle with delusion and succumb to it. Now. sir," turning to the elder gentleman (his name was Ancelôt) and making a courteous bow—"pray favor me with your case and symptoms."

The party addressed looked nettled, and replied—

"Mine was no delusion; it was a stern and solemn reality."

"Well, give it what name you please," returned his companion, "only let Major Newburgh hear the tale as you narrated it to me."

"To be again discredited? Excuse me, Trevor, no."

"Oh! but," interposed the major, "I'm of a very confiding disposition. I believe everything and every body. The more extraordinary the narrative, the more faith am I inclined to place in it. Trevor, there, as we all know," added he, laughingly, "has a twist. He's a 'total abstinence' man—a homeopathic man—a Benthamite, and secretly favors Mesmerism. With such abounding faith upon some points, we will allow him to be somewhat skeptical upon others. Come, your narrative."

"At the sober age of two-and-forty, a period when the season of delusion is pretty well over," said Mr. Ancelôt, pointedly, "I found myself in charge of a notorious fishing-village on the coast of Lincolnshire. It was famous, or rather infamous, for the smuggling carried on in its creeks, and for the vigilant and relentless wreckers which it numbered in its hovels. 'Rough materials!' said the bishop, Dr. Prettyman, when I waited upon him to be licensed to the curacy—rough materials to work upon; but by care and diligence, Mr. Ancelôt, wondrous changes may be effected. Your predecessor, a feeble-minded man, gave but a sorry account of your flock; but under your auspices, I hope they will become a church-going and a church-loving people! Make them churchmen—you understand me? Make them churchmen!'… Heaven help me! They needed first to be made honest and temperate—to be humanized and Christianized! 'Church-loving and church-going!' The chaplaincy of Newgate is not, perhaps, a sinecure; that of the Model Prison at Pentonville has, probably, its hours of toil; and that attached to Horsemonger Lane is not entirely a bed of roses; but if you wish to wear a man's heart and soul out; to depress his spirits and prostrate his energies—if you would make him long to exchange his lot with the day-laborer who whistles at the plow,—station him as a curate, far apart from his fellows, in a village made up of prize-fighters, smugglers, and wreckers!" To my lonely cure, with a heavy heart, I went; and by a most reckless and rebellious crew I speedily found myself surrounded—a crew which defied control. Intoxicating liquors of all kinds abounded. The meanest hovel smelt of spirits. Nor was there any want of contraband tobacco. Foreign luxuries, in a word, were rife among them. And yet they were always in want—always craving from their clergyman temporal aid—in his spiritual capacity they were slow to trouble him; had ever on their lips the entreaty 'give'—'give;' and always protested that they 'were come to their furthest, and had not a shilling in the world to help themselves withal.'

"For recklessness, drunkenness, and midnight brawls, all England could not match that parish.

"To the general and prevailing aspect of poverty, there was one, and that a marked exception. It presented itself in the person of Abigail Lassiter—a widow—who was reputed to be wealthy, and with whose means, unscrupulously acquired, a tale of murder was strangely blended. Abigail's husband had been a smuggler, and she herself was a daring and keen-eyed wrecker. For a season both throve. He had escaped detection in many a heavy run of contraband goods; and she had come in for many a valuable 'waif and stray' which the receding waters left upon the slimy strand. It was, however, her last venture, which, in her neighbors' language, had made her. Made her, indeed, independent of her fellows, but a murderer before her God!… About day-break in a thick misty morning in April, a vessel, heavily laden, was seen to ground on 'The Jibber Sand;' and after striking heavily for some hours, suddenly to part asunder. The sea was so rough, and the wind so high, that no help could be rendered from the shore. Midday drew on—came—passed, and the villagers assembled on the heights (their eyes fixed the while on the devoted vessel like vultures watching for their prey) had at length the satisfaction of seeing the laboring bark yield to the war of the elements, and her timbers float, piecemeal, over the waters.

"But nothing of any consequence came ashore. A stray spar or two, a hen-coop, two or three empty barrels, a child's light straw hat, and a sailor's cap—these were all.

"The gale held: the wind blew off shore, and at nightfall the wrecking-party, hungry, weary, and out of humor, retired to their cabins. About an hour after midnight heavy rain fell; the wind shifted, and blew inshore. With the first appearance of dawn, Abigail's cottage door was seen slowly to unclose, and she herself to emerge from it, and stealthily creep down to the shore. Once there, a steep sea-wall—thrown up to protect the adjoining lowlands from inundation—screened her from observation. She was absent about an hour, returned apparently empty-handed, reentered her cottage, nor passed its threshold again during the remainder of the day.

"But that was a memorable day for the industrious. My villagers were early astir. Their muddy shore was strewed with fragments of the wreck; and when the tide went down, and the gale moderated, half imbedded in the Jibber Sand was found 'goodly spoil.' Packages of costly shawls, hampers of Dutch liqueurs, bales of linen, several kegs of brandy, and two small canvas-bags containing bullion, were a few of the 'waifs and strays' which keen eyes speedily detected, and stalwart arms as speedily appropriated.

"Later on in the afternoon a very bustling personage made his appearance, much blown and overheated, who announced himself as 'acting under authority from Lloyd's,' and 'representing the under-writers.' At his heels, uttering volleys of threats, and menacing every soul he met with hideous 'penalties according to act of parliament,' followed a very lady-like young gentleman, with a thin reedy voice, and light down upon his chin, 'charged with protecting the public revenue.' Well for him in a dark night if he could protect himself!

"Worthy souls! They might as well have spared their well-fed nags, and have remained at home snugly housed in their chimney-corner. ''Tis the early bird that gets the worm.' They had missed it by hours. The spoil was housed. It was buried in cottage gardens, and cabbages planted over it. It was secreted among the thatch, where even the best trained bird-nesting urchin would have missed it. It was stored away under more than one hollow hearth-stone, on which a cheerful wood-fire was crackling and blazing. When were the 'womenkind' in a wrecker's village at a loss for expedients?

"But a discovery was made that afternoon, which, for the moment, made the boisterous gentleman from Lloyd's falter in his denunciations, and hushed the menaces of the indignant and well-dressed personage who protected the revenue, and saddened the few hearts amongst us not entirely devoid of feeling.

"On a little knoll—called in memory of an unfortunate suicide, 'The Mad Maiden's Knoll,'—was found the body of a lady, youthful and fair, and by her side that of a little infant, a few weeks old. The babe, carefully swathed in countless warm wrappers, was lying in a rude cradle of wicker-work; this was firmly fastened to the lady's waist, who, on her part, had been securely lashed to a spar. 'Twas a piteous sight! But one's sympathies were called into still more painful exercise when it was found that the unfortunate lady's corpse had been rifled by some unprincipled marauder; that both ears had been torn, and two of her fingers had been crushed and broken in the attempt to plunder them of the rings with which they had been laden. Nor was this all. Every part of her dress had been carefully examined. Her stays had been ripped open, and a packet, assumed to be of value, had apparently been taken thence. What strengthened this surmise was the fact that a fragment of a purple morocco note-case still adhered to her dress. This fragment bore the words in gilt letters, 'Bank Notes;' below were the initials 'F.H.B.' The sight drew forth general expressions of pity: but pity gave place to indignation when the district surgeon joined the group, and after a careful examination of the body, said slowly, 'I suspect—I more than suspect—I am almost positive, that this lady reached the shore alive. The winds and waves have not destroyed her. She has perished by the hand of another. Look here,' and he pointed to a small dark rim round the neck, 'this is the effect of strangulation; and my belief is that the corpse before us is that of a murdered woman.'

"The coroner of the district was summoned, a jury empanneled, and the simple facts relative to the discovery of the bodies of the woman and infant were briefly placed on record. Few cared to speak openly. All had an interest in saying as little as possible. 'Return an open verdict, gentlemen; return an open verdict by all means,' suggested the wary official; 'that is the shortest course you can adopt; safe and perfectly legal; it decides nothing, contradicts nothing, concludes nothing.' No advice could be more palatable to the parties he addressed. 'Found dead,' was the ready response; 'but by what means, drowning or otherwise; there is no evidence to show.'

"The coroner was delighted.

"'Precisely so; quite sufficient. My gig, and a glass of brandy and water.'"

* * * * *

"No one claimed the bodies. Early interment was necessary; and a few hours after the inquest was concluded, mother and child were consigned to their parent earth.