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TO THE EVENING STAR

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THE WORLD OF FLOWERS

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THE OFFERING

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ON THE DEATH
OF AN AGED RELATIVE

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EVENING

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A RAINY DAY

A rainy day! — What a subject have I chosen.  The very words of my title will cause an involuntary shudder in every beau and fine lady who may happen to look on it.  Many people dread rainy day as much as if each drop were fatal, and do not hold themselves liable to perform any promise that may carry them abroad, if the weather prove, in the least degree, unfavourable.  Some careful folks hardly ever take the air without umbrellas tucked under their arms; and seldom walk a hundred yards without turning their eyes to the clouds.  I do not like the rain that comes down at intervals — a day half clouds, half sunshine: you see signs of a coming shower, and hurry into the nearest hovel, when, after having waited awhile, the clouds seem to be dispersing, and you sally out, but have scarcely proceeded the length of a street, before it pours down in torrents.  However, you are determined not to turn back to the shelter, so you hurry on, and in the course of a few minutes are soaked to the skin.  Then the sun comes out, and there you are, like a dog just emerging from a river, your hat and coat glittering with rain-drops, and your feelings as uncomfortable and uneasy as possible; fancying all eyes are fixed on you; cursing the weather, and wishing the rain would come down faster than before, and make everyone as wet as yourself.  But unfortunately it continues fine until you arrive at your abode; if you are married, you vent your spleen on your wife; if you are a bachelor, you preserve a sullen silence, make straight to your own room, station yourself at the window, and enjoy the pleasure of seeing other people get wet.

    If we must have rain, give me a thorough wet day; rain before I awake, rain until I am asleep.  I like to steer on under the canopy of an umbrella, hearkening to the rain pattering above my head — I prefer a silk umbrella — the patter on it is louder and more distinctly audible than on a cotton one — making a music, melancholy and sweet as the evening hymn of a tea-kettle.  No pleasure is without its alloy — umbrellas are often the cause of great inconvenience: for instance, you get into a crowded street, amongst a complete phalanx of them; we will suppose you rather tall — you come in contact with a fellow, head and shoulders less than yourself — he hoists his cotton covering just high enough to jolt against your head, and away goes your hat into the gutter.  If you happen to have some cheap periodical stowed above your pericranium, the sheet is republished by the wind, and sails away as though under the superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, until it is induced to take up its abode in the mud.  The author of this mischief begs your pardon of course; you curse his pardon, and stalk off, looking grim as a Saracen.

    My chief pleasure on a rainy day, is to sit at a window, and mark the passers by.  There you see the ladies, pretty creatures, tripping along with their slight silken shields held over their slender bonnets, and their petticoats held up, as though to preserve them from being draggled or splashed, yet verily believe, more for the purpose of displaying their finely turned ankles.  Then comes a poor half-drowned mortal, completely drenched through and through, with his hat slouching over his eyes, and his hands in his pockets, creeping along at a snail-like pace, as if he defied the elements, and invited them to do their worst.  Then you hear the clatter of pattens, and some servant-lass from a neighbouring mansion hurries past, with her white apron thrown over her newly washed and showily trimmed cap.  Next comes the rattling of wheels, and the hackney coachman sweeps on, urging his jaded and worn-out cattle to the top of their speed, which amounts to a half trot, whilst a copious quantity of steam evaporates from them, and forms a mist around him; his broad brimmed castor drooping and dripping on his burly greatcoat, and a bundle of handkerchiefs huddling up to his eyes.  The streets abound with dense little lakes, caused by the rain settling in the indentures made by the cart-wheels; and when there is nothing else to engage my attention, I watch the continued succession of circles spreading over them, as drop after drop descends.  Now the rain comes faster and faster, and all are on the run, even if they know they are so far distant from home or shelter that they must be wet to all intents and purposes, whether they run or walk.  There is something amusing in the racing of straws and other small particles of matter, as they hurry along the channel, to their eternity ― the main sewer.  Schools are breaking up for the day, and the most careful urchins scamper by, with their handkerchiefs tied over their hats; whilst a more thoughtless and mischievous set stop the soughs, dam up the channels, make what they call "a flood," and caper round the puddle. — The servant enters the room, and informs me that tea is ready; after sipping my favourite beverage, I take a book, and resume my place at the window; thus enjoying a double pleasure, until it becomes dark.  Then candles are lighted, the blinds are lowered and the fire burns bright and cheerfully.  I seat myself by the blazing hearth, and lift my head at intervals from my book, to listen to the howling of the wind, for the night has become tempestuous.  Now I feel the blessings of my own lot, and thank God for my comfortable dwelling.  I think, with a feeling of subdued melancholy, of those poor unfortunates who are now wandering through the desolate streets, lightly clad, pining with cold and hunger, and without a shelter from the night-storm.  I contrast the situation of those poor children of adversity, for whom the world is so barren of delight, with that of the wealthy and the high-born, whose lives are a continued round of luxury and enjoyment; and when I reflect on the inequality with which the Creator's bounties are distributed to his creatures, I heave a sigh for the imperfectness of human institutions.  I retire, with a heavy heart, to my couch; the rain patters against my casement, and the blast sweeps fitfully by; again I thank God for the blessings which have fallen to my lot.

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TO A STREAM

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ALBERT AND GERALDINE

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LOVE-DOUBTS

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TO MARIAN

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LINES WRITTEN IN ILLUSTRATION
OF AN UNFINISHED DESIGN BY THE LATE
HENRY LIVERSEGE

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THE SELF

"FROM morning to night do I toil," said Hubert the woodcutter, as he returned one evening from the forest, "and rags and poverty are my only rewards; but I will endure it no longer: this very night will I betake me to the wizard Grimerius, accept of his terms, and become rich.  What care I about having a self?  I shall have wealth enough to support a dozen selfs, and my second self will be a companion to my first self."

    Grimerius was a learned and skilful magician, and so wonderous were the powers of his art, that the ministers of darkness tremblingly performed his bidding, and the elements were the slaves of his will.  He dwelt alone — alone with respect to earthly companions.  He stamped with his foot, and a score of infernal lackeys attended the summons, and were ready to fly at his command to the world's verge.  If he wished to vent his wrath on man, away rode his spirits on the wings of the wind, and the tall and stately ship was dashed upon the rocks, or whelmed beneath the furious waves — the fierce volcano opened wide its hot and flaming jaws, and fertile villages became heaps of smoking ashes — the shuddering earth was rent in twain, and the peasant's cottage, and the noble's castle, were hurled indiscriminately into its womb.  These, and numerous other pranks of a like nature, were at least ascribed to him by his neighbours; and he indeed would have been deemed a sceptic who had dared to doubt the truth of their assertions.  It was also said, amongst the peasantry and for the veracity of this assertion my tale will vouch, that Grimerius would grant a man all he desired, provided he would consent to have a self; that is, a figure of the wizard's creation, exactly like the person who acceded to his terms, and animated by the same feelings and impulses.  What could be his motive for wishing to indulge this strange whim, was beyond his neighbours' comprehension.  It is true many explanations were given of the mystery, quite clear and satisfactory to their respective authors, but as they were all different, I shall not trespass upon the patience of my reader by stating them.  I candidly confess my own inability to throw any light upon the subject, and therefore the secret is likely to remain one for me.  Thus far, however, all accounts agreed; — the wizard was extremely desirous of accomplishing his object, yet could not create the being he wished, without the previous consent of the person in whose likeness it was to appear.  Hubert had long pondered over this matter, and had often thought of applying to Grimerius for "further particulars."

    A tradition existed that the wizard's terms had once been accepted, and that he who accepted them soon grew so weary of the unearthly companion who was ever by his side, that, in a fit of despair, he put an end to his existence.  This was the principal reason that had hitherto deterred the woodcutter from making an application to the wizard, for he had long been discontented with his state, and was naturally of a firm and daring disposition.  As will be seen by his preceding soliloquy, he now determined, reckless of consequences, to subscribe to the conditions of the magician.

    Night had veiled the earth, and the lamps of heaven burned brightly, when Hubert knocked at the door of the wizard's habitation.  A clear and full-toned voice bade him come in.  The room into which he entered was dark and spacious, and a faint light, emitted by a single taper, vainly struggled to dissipate the surrounding gloom. The walls were ornamented, or rather defaced, with drawings of grotesque and hideous forms, whose distended eyes, seen through the imperfect light, seemed to glare fearfully on the intruder; and around were scattered various necromantic implements.  The magician was seated at a desk of ebony, intently perusing a ponderous volume, inscribed with strange and mystic characters.  Several minutes elapsed, and still he continued his studies, apparently unconscious of his visitor's presence, the wavering of whose purpose began to be indicated by the trembling of his limbs, and his frequent glances towards the closed door.  His prolific imagination, aided by the objects around him, had succeeded in conjuring up such a train of terrific fancies, that he was just preparing to effect an escape, when he beheld the Wizard raise his head slowly from the book, and fix on him his piercing eyes.  He paused, ere he spoke, and the woodcutter had leisure to survey his singular and striking countenance.  He appeared to be a man little past the middle age of life.  His features might almost have been termed faultless, and his raven locks curled closely round his high and expansive forehead.  His eyes were intensely bright, and but for their snake-like expression, and the ashy and cadaverous hue of his complexion, he would have been eminently handsome.  His dress was of black velvet, and fitted close to his person.  Previously to speaking, he rose from his seat, as if to display his towering and majestic stature, and, folding his arms over his breast, thus addressed his disconcerted guest:—

    "What would'st thou of me, that thus thou breakest in upon my meditations?"

    "Please your wizardship," said Hubert, "I have been long endeavouring to earn a comfortable subsistence, but, finding all honest means in vain, I am determined ―― "

    "For the future to use dishonest ones," interrupted the magician.

    "Why as to that," said the woodcutter, "if the world lie not, I am not the only one who prefers wealth and power, however obtained, to despised poverty with all its honesty."

    "No prating, sirrah!" cried the wizard, testily; for report said that he himself had in other days been acquainted with want and wretchedness: "I am not to be trifled with — what would'st thou with me, fellow?"

    "Briefly then," replied Hubert, "I am poor, and having heard that, by fulfilling certain conditions, my poverty might be remedied, I am come to do your bidding."

    "Know'st thou the terms on which alone thou canst become rich?" said the magician.

    "In part," said Hubert; " but be they what they may, I will consent to all thou requirest."

    "Enough," exclaimed the magician, and a smile of bitter derision played for a moment over his features.  He took from his desk the skeleton of a bond, and, filling up the blank spaces, in a lawyer-like manner, he handed it to the woodcutter for his signature.

    As our hero — all the chief personages of tales are heroes, be they princes or peasants, warriors or highwaymen — as our hero, therefore, was unacquainted with the profitless art of writing, he was about to make its customary substitute, a sign of the cross, when his hand was suddenly arrested in its progress by the wizard.

    "Hold!" cried he, in an alarmed and quick voice, "give me some other token of approval, some other mark of thy consent; make not that hated sign, or here our treaty ends."

    The woodcutter complied with his request, and made a mark of less obnoxious character, and the magician proceeded to business.  He opened a closet, and brought forth a number of nameless ingredients, and, casting them into a caldron in a retired part of the room, under which a fire was previously lighted, he began to stir them with a stick or wand.  A mist rose slowly from the caldron.  The magician paused in his employment, and the mist instantly dispersed.

    "Approach," said he, in a low, subdued tone, and the woodcutter obeyed.  "Bare thine arm — now let the blood flow into the caldron;" and, as he spoke, with a sharp instrument he dexterously opened a vein.

    The woodcutter did as required, and the magician resumed his occupation.  Again the mist rose slowly from the caldron.  By degrees it gained an appearance somewhat resembling a human being — the ingredients were stirred with redoubled vigour.

    "'Tis done!" shouted the wizard.  The mist vanished, the blood ceased to flow from the arm of the woodcutter, and, turning his head, he saw by his side a figure, his exact counterpart in form and feature.

    "Away!" cried the magician, "thy wish is accomplished."

    "Not so fast, good sir," replied Hubert, "I have performed my part of the contract, and it is but just that you should perform yours.  Mean you to play me false?  Where is my promised wealth?"

    "Slave!" exclaimed the magician, "doubt'st thou me?  Begone! hie thee to where thy hut once stood, and thou wilt find wealth in abundance — ay, even to satiety."

    When the woodcutter had left the magicians abode, his heart misgave him.

    "How," said he aloud, "if the villain should have made me his dupe!"

    "How, if the villain should have made me his dupe!" echoed a voice by his side.

    He turned, and his eyes met those of the newly-created self.

    "Gadso!" said he, "I had forgotten I had a companion, and one, too, of the wizard's creating.  I suppose now this fellow will be able to tell me all about it."

    He proceeded, accordingly, to question the figure, as to the nature of his wealth, but he soon desisted from his inquiries, for the replies he obtained were only repetitions of his own words.

    "Thou art a mighty impertinent varlet," said he to the being, "yet if thou wilt play the echo, so be it — thou shalt be a musical one, and assist me in trolling an old ditty."  So saying, he chanted the following strain, in which he was accompanied by the self:—

THE MAIDEN'S FATE

    "Well," said Hubert to the self, when the song was finished, "thou wilt not be a quarrelsome companion; actuated by the same thoughts and impulses as myself, thou wilt not be much inclined to wrangle with thine image.  Henceforth, then, be thou the partaker of my joys, and the sharer of my sorrows."

    They now arrived at the spot where Hubert had left his rude dwelling; instead of a mean wooden hut, he found a large and magnificent mansion; he gazed around him, rubbed his eyes, and then stared at it again.

    "Am I awake," said he, "or is this habitation the work of magic?  Be it as it may, awake or asleep, and magic or not, it seems a goodly place, and I will essay to gain an entrance."

    He pulled the handle of a bell appended to the gate, and his summons was answered by a porter, who, without awaiting further question, ushered him through a stately hall into a handsome and brilliantly illuminated apartment, in the centre of which was placed a massy and richly gilt table, spread with a profusion of the most costly viands.  The goblets were of burnished gold, and the plates and dishes pure and dazzling silver.  At the head of the table were two throne-like seats, encased in crimson velvet; in short, all the furniture was of a rare and splendid description.  A host of obsequious menials were in attendance: the butler declared he had been particularly careful in selecting the choicest wines; the cook hoped the food provided would suit his palate; and all behaved as though in the presence of a master whose favour they were anxious to secure.  Hubert beheld and listened in astonishment, but he made no remark on what he saw and heard.  Discovering no other company, he proceeded to take possession of one of the seats before mentioned, and the self, imitating his example, occupied the other.

    The viands were found to be delicious, and the wine was pronounced excellent.  Often were the bright goblets emptied of their glowing contents, and it was past midnight when Hubert left the table.

    "This cheer is delightful," said he to his companion, as they staggered away arm in arm, "what thinkest thou?"

    The self merely repeated the words.  They were shown up a flight of wide and lofty stairs, into a spacious chamber, where stood a couch, whose silken curtains were wrought with figures of gold; and the decorations of the room were in a similar style of elegance to those in the one below.

    Hubert's faculties were, however, too much impaired by his recent revel, to enable him to bestow much attention on the fresh novelties which presented themselves to his view, and hastily disrobing himself, he was soon fast asleep.

    The morning was far advanced when he awoke; but the draperies of the windows admitted only a dim and uncertain light into the chamber.  All recollections of the preceding night's adventures had vanished from Hubert's memory; and, finding he had a bedfellow, he was entirely at a loss how to account for it.  He arose, and began to search for his garments, as he thought it must be time for him to proceed to the forest, to commence his daily occupation.  His search was fruitless, and, to heighten his displeasure, his companion moved as he moved, and imitated all his actions.  A confused remembrance of the events of the foregoing night recurred to his mind.

    "Leave me!" said he to the figure.

    "Leave me!" it repeated, still keeping close to him.

    "Curse thy mockery!" said he, aiming a blow at it.

    The blow fell heavily on the self, and was as heavily returned.  Hubert's patience was now quite exhausted, and, foaming with passion, he began to pummel the self with all his might; the self was not tardy in repaying his cuffs, and furious battle ensued.  The combatants were soon prostrate on the floor; still neither relinquished his hold, and Hubert having previously opened the chamber-door for the purpose of admitting light to aid him in his search, in their struggles they dragged each other out of the room, and, rolling along the gallery, both tumbled down stairs.  The fall cooled their fury, and, when they arrived at the bottom of the descent, Hubert loosened his grasp, and managed, with difficulty, to lift up his sorely-bruised body.

    "I see," said he to the self, with a rueful countenance, "that it is of no use to quarrel with thee, for where both are equal neither can gain an advantage, so even give me thy hand, and let us be friends."

    The self echoed his words, and did as required.

    "Thou would'st be a good fellow enough," continued Hubert, "if thou hadst not such a plaguy trick of imitation."

    They returned to their chamber, and, discovering two rich suits of apparel, each arrayed himself, and they then proceeded to the scene of their last night's banquet, and partook of a collation that awaited them.

    Hubert now set on foot preparations for a splendid feast, and dispatched messengers to request the attendance, on the following evening, of all those whom he had known in adversity.  The appointed time arrived, and the largest apartment was thronged with people, principally of the lower class.  When the company had assembled, Hubert entered the room, clad in the most gorgeous style, and with as much dignity as it was possible for him to assume; the self entered at the same moment, clad in like manner.  Both took their seats at the upper end of the table, to the admiration and astonishment of the guests.  Neither admiration nor astonishment spoiled the appetites of the visitors, and they ate and drank as if for a wager.  No sooner, however, had they satisfied the cravings of their stomachs, than they commenced whispering one to another, and cast curious and inquiring looks at the two Huberts, evidently alarmed at the strange phenomenon.  Hubert perceived their curiosity, and, in order to put a stop to their surmises, he addressed them in the following speech, which he had composed for the occasion, and thought sufficiently explicit to do away with all unpleasant suspicions:—

    "My friends, I see you are surprised at this sudden change in my circumstances, but I will explain the cause of it in a few words.  The person by my side is my twin brother, whose close resemblance to myself was, even in our childhood, considered extremely remarkable.  He left me, when young, for a far distant land, and having amassed a large quantity of wealth, he has returned at last to share it with his only remaining relative; for, alas, Time, my dear neighbours, is a said destroyer of the human race!"

    Here Hubert and his image both applied their handkerchiefs to their eyes.

    "You no doubt are astonished at his repetition of my words and actions.  Owing to a wound received on his head, he is at times afflicted with derangement, in which he is always seized with this odd whim of mimicry.  When I inform you that he is now suffering under one of these temporary fits, you will no longer feel so much amazed."

    This speech, however, failed in its effects; the guests still continued to stare and whisper, and at an early hour they all slunk away with looks of alarm and horror.

    The next day Hubert thought proper to walk abroad, for the first time since the acquirement of his riches.  As he paced through the streets the children avoided his path, and the doors and windows were crowded with people, who gathered together to gaze at him.  At first he construed the universal sensation excited by his appearance into respect for his superior wealth, and admiration of his jewels and apparel, but he was soon woefully undeceived.  There was a loud and continued cry raised after him of "Behold the double man!  Death to the wretch who has sold himself to the wizard!"  The cry was mixed with hootings and imprecations, and a shower of stones and other missiles were hurled at him.  One portion of the multitude armed themselves with various weapons of offence, and pursued him, breathing vengeance.  He contrived to get within the precincts of his own gate, ere they came up with him, and he then fled trembling to his chamber; his persecutors, in the meantime, keeping up such a clamour on the outside of his dwelling, that he momentarily expected they would effect an entrance, and proceed to acts of further violence.  The self was still with him.

    "Accursed monster!" said he, "were it not for thee I might be truly happy; and hast thou no consolation to offer me? no voice save to repeat my own words?  Fiend! mocker! canst thou not answer me?"

    He hid his face in his hands, and turned from the figure with loathing.

    In vain did he strive to shun the self — sleeping or waking it was ever by his side.  If he stirred abroad, the persecutions of the peasantry rendered his life in peril; if he sought the aid of wine, when about to raise the cup to his lips, his eyes encountered those of the self, and their glance turned the draught to bitterness.

    "Fool! madman! that I was," he exclaimed, "to expect happiness from leaguing myself with the powers of darkness!  I am a hermit amongst my fellow-men, a prisoner in my own mansion, despised by those that loved me, hated and avoided by all.  I will return to the wizard, and implore him to restore me my poor hut, homely fare, and coarse garments."

    When darkness was around, and sleep had closed the watchful eyes of his neighbours, Hubert again bent his steps to the wizard's dwelling.  He entered, and found, as on his previous visit, the magician occupied in poring over a large volume.

    "What more dost thou require," said he, "that thou again darest to disturb my solitude?  Have I not supplied thee with all thou didst wish?  Art thou not satisfied?"

    "Thou hast granted me all; nay, more than I desire," replied Hubert, "and still I am not satisfied.  Take back thy wealth, take back thy monster, and give me in return, poverty and content."

    "Dolt! idiot!" said the magician, "would"st thou again return to rags and wretchedness?  Would'st thou relinquish the riches and the splendour with which I have endowed thee, merely because I have given thee a companion in thy good fortune?"

    "What is wealth and grandeur to me," said Hubert, "all my former friends shun me — no one will share in my prosperity; no one, except this hated being, who clings to me as a shadow; whose words are but echoes of my own; and whose aspect, though like to mine, I regard with disgust and detestation."

    "Thou wastest breath," said the wizard; "I have fulfilled thy request, and it were as easy for thee to alter the course of the sun, as to persuade me to change thy condition."

    "Demon as thou art," replied the wretched man, "hast thou no compassion?  If I MUST retain thy fatal gift, at least let this creature have words and actions different from mine; even if it thwart me in all my purposes.  Let it be any thing but an echo to myself; and I will bless thee!"

    "Ha!" cried the wizard, "dost thou taunt me?  Thou askest that which it is beyond my skill to accomplish.  Hence, miscreant — thy doom is fixed!"

    The wizard stamped violently on the ground, and instantly Hubert was seized by invisible hands, and borne away with such incredible swiftness that his brain grew dizzy, and his senses forsook him.  When he recovered, he found himself resting on a couch in one of his own apartments, and the self was still by his side.

    "Miserable wretch that I am!" exclaimed he; my joys are blasted for ever; sorrow awaits me in this world, and eternal torture in the next!"

    A weary year wore away, and each day did the unhappiness of Hubert increase; each day did his hatred to the self become greater.  To such an excess at length did his misery arrive, that in an agony of passion and despair he drew a dagger from his girdle, crying, "There is but one way to rid myself of thee, detested fiend, and I will accomplish the deed or perish!"  Thus saying, he rushed upon the self, and plunged his weapon in its breast; the arm of the self was uplifted at the same moment, and another weapon clove the heart of the ill-starred Hubert.  A loud crash was heard by the surrounding inhabitants, and when they looked towards the place where the stately mansion had so lately stood, they saw nothing but a confused mass of stones, from whence clouds of dust, which they averred had a sulphurous smell, arose in large columns.

    The wizard's fate may be briefly told.  The sky was one night observed to assume an unusually murky appearance; the stars shone for a few moments with a pale and sickly light, and then were quenched in gloom.  The atmosphere became excessively sultry and oppressive, and the peasants gazed on the heavens with looks of horror and dismay; for the white face of the moon had changed to a blood-red hue.  Suddenly a broad sheet of bright flame rushed rapidly through the air, loud shrieks of anguish were heard, and it was asserted that two forms might be discerned in a blazing chariot, one of whom was the unfortunate dealer in magic, and the other a personage who shall be unmentionable.  At the dawn of morning a number of people repaired to the site of the wizard's abode.  There was not a vestige of the dwelling to be seen, but the grass and herbage in its vicinity were scorched and withered, and the leaves had fallen shrivelled from the trees, as if they had been breathed on by autumn, though it was then only the commencement of summer.

    The foregoing tale was told to me by an old grey-headed man, and when he had finished his recital, he read me a long sermon, cautioning me never to obtain wealth by unlawful practices, nor ever to wish for that which could only be acquired by evil means.  "For," said he, stroking his beard, and looking extremely wise, "what is gotten under the devil's hip always goes under his hoof."

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REPININGS

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THE POET'S LOVE

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THE SIRE'S FAREWELL

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DREAMS OF A CONVICT

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THE LAST ADIEU