The following is an extract of an unpublished notebook that contains the articles and poems that were published in New York City and New Jersey newspapers by Edward P. Brownson (1843-1864). The articles and poems in this notebook date from August 2, 1859 through March 3, 1861. There are 14 entries in all, two handwritten and 12 newspaper clippings. The newspaper clippings include four poems and 8 articles. The articles cover topics of New York and New Jersey travel and city life, Abraham Lincoln as a candidate for President in 1860, historical fictions set in North Africa or Spain that illustrate in the context of the conflict between Christendom and Islam a moral point on loyalty, or vengeance and betrayal, and the description of a debate at Fordham on the centralization of power as a national policy.
In 1859, Edward was a student at St. John’s College, Fordham, New York (now Fordham University). He graduated in June of 1860 with a Bachelor of Arts and began working as a secretary for his father, the journalist and reviewer, Orestes Augustus Brownson (1803-1876).
None of the articles were published under Edward’s real name. All of the articles are signed with the male pseudonyms of Reginald Fitzbrun, Obadiah P. Tompkins, F.C. Raymond, or Emile Fitzbrun. The romance poems were signed with the female pseudonym, Frances.
The articles were published in the New Jersey Journal (2) , The Elizabeth (New Jersey) Unionist (6), The Adopted Citizen (2), The Herald and Visitor (1), and the Irish-American (1).
Dennis P. Kelly April 3, 2011
Page 1, Entry 1 (Handwritten Title Page).
The Only
Authentic and Complete Collection
of the
Publications
of
Edward Brownson
Vol I.
Commenced at Elizabeth, N.J. Aug. 1859.
Finished at Elizabeth, N.J. July, 1861
Page 2. Blank.
Page 3, Entry 2 (Newspaper clipping).
Aug. 2nd 1859
POETRY
[For the New Jersey Journal.]
AN INVITATION TO A FRIEND
Inscribed to J.M.G.
Come, dear James, your city roof awhile forsake
And at my rural home a meal partake:
Though humble the food that there you meet,
Yet an honest heart waits its friend to greet.
No ornaments there nature hide,
But merrily o’er the threshold wide
The cooling breezes sing as you come,
While joyful faces welcome you home.
No costly wines on my table are,
No eastern dainties sought from afar
But rosy peaches my table grace,
And plums from the orchard are next in place:
A noble heifer waits your coming;
My own pressed beer o’er the cups is running;
But the last that adorns my offering board
is a bottle of wine by my grand-sire stored.
Reginald Fitzbrun
Pages 3-4, Entry 3 (Newspaper clipping).
[For the New Jersey Journal.]
Aug. 23, 1859.
JONATHN’S VISIT TO HOLLAND.
Jonathan arrived at his nineteenth year, without ever having proceeded beyond the precincts of his father’s humble farm, and doubtless he would never have left that hallowed spot, if he had not one day overheard some neighbors discoursing on the wealth and greatness of Holland. His ambition was presently roused, and he went home a new man. He was determined to visit the celebrated country, whose praises were recounted in such distant lands, and neither obstacles nor entreaties could force him from his project. In vain his sisters wept, in vain his mother implored: Jonathan was resolute; and a mountain might have been sooner moved from its base than he from his settled purpose.
His family, at length, finding all opposition useless, resolved that his going should reflect no dishonor upon them, as far, at least, as their means and skill might be exerted in preparing his outfit. Accordingly when Jonathan ascended the ship that was to bear him away, he found himself the fortunate possessor of six linsey-woolsey shirts, with two checked ones for solemn occasions, a cravat made from the remnant of his departed progenitor’s pocket handkerchief, several pairs of sock[s] all knit by his diligent sisters, a pair of corduroy breeches, together with numerous other indispensables not necessary to be detailed. In addition to these the care of an aged spinster aunt had provided the young traveler with some few gold coins, while a languishing maiden of the youth’s acquaintance encumbered him with the picture of her loving features, taken on a small allowance of canvas, which little parcel Jonathan reverently deposited in his pocket without any further examination.
The voyage was long and tedious, but after a suitable experience of sea-sickness, the Yankee lad had arrived in safety at the great harbor of Amsterdam, where straightway depositing on a retired spot about the wharf his trunk, in which all his worldly possessions were centered, he seated himself by the side of this, his silent companion, and directly fell to musing on his fortunes.
How long he might have continued thus is uncertain; but later a few minutes a passerby muttered something to him, and at the same time pointed towards the neighboring town. Jonathan, for the first time noticing the houses, concluded it would not be amiss to have a nearer view of them: so, starting up from his sedentary position, he walked on rapidly along a street which proceeded through the heart of the city. First, however, he did not neglect to ask the nearest traveler, “who owned all them ships over thar?”
“Kannichtferstan,” was the reply, and both moved on. “Kannitferstan,” muttered Jonathan, pursuing his way. ” This Mr. Kannitferstan must be a rather rich man; I reckon we must get acquainted. I suppose he might help a feller on in business, if he’d mind to. Wal, here’s a lot of splendid houses; p’rhaps they’re his too — ain’t that so stranger? “
He added aloud to a person passing.
“Kannichtfestan,” said the other, staring wildly at Jonathan. “Wal, that’s just what I suspected,” said the Yankee, pursuing his soliloquy, ” but ye needn’t look so all-fired sharp at a feller for it. Jings, this is a famous place, after all; nothing to do but to have ships and build houses. I guess Sue wouldn’t like the place very bad.”
As this and other happy visions crowded on his imagination, he was roused by the mournful tolling of a distant bell, and at the same time a funeral procession passed along the street. All the better feelings of his nature were immediately awakened, and in compassionate sorrow he doffed his hat and joined himself to the mournful train. When the last sod was thrown over the new-made grave, he ventured to break silence by whispering to his neighbor: “Friend, who’s that poor man that’s died?”
“Kannichtferstan,” replied the other very demurely. “Kannitferstan !” cried Jonathan, starting as if a cannon ball had struck at his feet; “Kannnitferstan ! what, him as owns all the ships and fine houses, and has got plenty of money?” he at length found voice to ask his companion; when, satisfied at receiving no negative, he continued muttering to himself as he hastened to return to the wharf: “Ah, poor Kennitferstan, poor man, what good is all your houses, and your ships, and your money and everything to you now? You ain’t no better off for them, and you can’t use them no more. And as I suppose it will sometime or other be with me; and what’s the use anyway spending all your time to get rich? Sue had just as soon be poor, and I don’t care a bit if she hain’t got no money. So, I’ll just put about home. Mother and the gals, I guess, would like to see me again by this time.
With this wise resolution, the Yankee returned to the quay, but it was all in vain that he looked for the trunk he had left there in the morning. To add to this difficulty, night was coming on, and he had no place for lodging. In this dilemma, he noticed a ship bound for New England; and on inquiring of the captain he was told it would sail an hour. Fortunately, Jonathan’s little stock of money was safe about him, and partly by means of this limited inducement, partly by promises of labor, he was allowed a passage, and ere long was borne out on the bosom of the broad Atlantic. When he arrived at his own house he found his family as rejoiced to see him as if he had brought with him all the wealth of Europe. Moreover, his faithful Sue despised him not for his mishaps, but in after years bestowed on him inestimable pleasure of having the unbounded right to provide for her maintenance, while the same blessing was shortly after claimed by a host of young hopefuls, one of, by no means, the least hopeful of which is the humble recorder of his ancestor’s glory.
Obadiah P. Tompkins.
Page 4, Entry 4 (Newspaper clipping).
Elizabeth, June 25th, 1860.
THE ELIZABETH UNIONIST
Mr. Editor:
A few words uttered, not long ago, by Mr. Lincoln, have given rise to some reflections on my part which may not be altogether uninteresting to your readers, or even without some value in the coming struggle. Abraham Lincoln has said that “he will not bind himself now, to be — when elected — the slave of any political party.”
Such an expression, considered merely by itself, is of little account; for who can say if it be really from the heart, or from the lips? But, when a man declares he will not enslave himself to gain a high and lucrative post, while every act of his life substantiates the assertion, while the whole harmonizes with it, then, indeed, we may believe he speaks sincerely, and that he will be true to his words as his words are true to him. We may expect, consequently, that such a man, if chosen to the most powerful office in our country, will never find himself obliged to give the most important post in a vast city to a swindler, or to hold pardon ready for a notorious criminal, or to scatter the noblest offices among the worst of men, all of whom have only one claim to his liberality and protection — the common tie of party. We may expect that a man who thus asserts his freedom, will sit in the presidential chair shackled by no laws but those of honor, duty and patriotism.
Now it is evident that we are right in presuming that Mr. Lincoln, when presiding over the government, will be such a man as we have just described, provided his character and acts be such as to give sure grounds that he will substantiate his words. Need I enter into details to make this appear? Are long proofs required to show Abe Lincoln and honest man, and a good citizen? Even his enemies never accuse him of dishonesty. They say he has been inactive, asleep, that he worked his way into life by hard labor; just as Cincinnatus of old, who trudged on with his plow until his country called for his services, but then none was ever more zealous for his native land. Uprightness, too, is one of the first requisites of a citizen — Mr. Lincoln has it. An honorable discharge of duty in a public office (if placed therein) comes next. As a Senator, Mr. Lincoln shines not indeed for pompous and empty orations, yet show me a deed of injustice to which he lent himself, an act of corruption in which he was a party — a good measure which he might have supported, but did not ?
Mr. Lincoln was not reared in luxury; he is a self-made man. He knows the ups and downs of life — he is inured to every fortune, and is withal a man of sterling character, so that we may set it down as a principle on which he will act, when he says he will be no party slave. For the glory of our republic, I would wish to say the same of a Houston and others, and to look on the contest already begun as one of the glorious contests of fifty years ago, when the least remarkable among presidential candidates was worthy of the chair to which he aspired. But were I to say if all those who now stand arranged before the public, soliciting the votes of the nation to make them the head of our government, it would be abusing my right as a correspondent which allows me to say the bitter truth, though not the sweet falsehood. It can be safely said of one alone — of Abraham Lincoln.
F.C.R.
Elizabeth, June 25th, 1860.
Page 5, Entry 5 (Newspaper clipping).
Elizabeth, July 21st, 1860.
THE ELIZABETH UNIONIST.
Thoughts on the Visionary.
“Blessed is the man that shall behold the houris of Paradise,” sang the Arabian, and straightway a thousand sages fell to dreaming on the delights mentioned by the poet, and then cut their throats in ecstasy over the wonders of their own visions.
Our illustrious century boasts not, however, of such glorious fortunes; the minstrels of our days in vain tune their lyres, in vain pour forth their unearthly lays; — such magical results are no more given to verses and rhymes. Still the visionary is not yet powerless; its shrines are not yet deserted by any class of society. Otherwise indeed we must own ourselves inferior to the ancients; while it is the policy of our enlightened age to assert its progress in everything, as much in art as in literature, as much in whistles and nutmegs as in exordiums and perorations.
In old times the visionary held its sway in the areopagus, as now in the British Parliament, where oft amid protracted sessions and midnight debates the venerable heads of the nation indulge in pleasing visions of noble suppers and royal dinners to beguile the hours while the reality is delayed. So Croesus, in his evening thoughts grasped the golds of eastern worlds and sank to rest on the downy beds of India; thus Cleopatra beheld her runaway Caesars again prostrate at her feet; Socrates, his Aspasia restored to an amiable temper. Some persons even affirm that the whole lives of the ancient philosophers were nothing but a continual series of visions.
If we look now at our own age we shall soon see how much we have progressed even in the line of which I speak. Visions are no longer confined to amorous youths or debilitated greybeards; every year of life has its peculiar set of them, increasing to the end. The lovely babe that rests so gently on its mother’s arm is dreaming of sugar and sweetmeats. That clumsy, ill-starred child, who has smashed the china in aiming for the preserves, is not without his own peculiar visions of an offended matron. Yonder college lads revel in the pleasure of anticipated cigars and smashes, marred by [no] frowning prefects, and in coming watches and beavers. That youth standing apart there has a vision of an L.L.D., or the presidential chair before him. That mischievous looking fellow who brushes by you has thoughts of an alchemical explosion, in which his revered professor enjoys a prominent, though unenvied position. In the convent over the way, there is such a myriad of visions of hats and beaux, etc, coursing through the brains of each, that I dare not begin to recount them.
Let us for a moment look at some of the persons passing by us on the great Broadway:
This exquisitely attired young gentleman is a person of sentiment; observing him closely, you perceive he does not know where he is, so intently is he occupied in surveying a tender image of his imagination, the original of which riveted his gaze at the Japanese festival. That prodigious being rolling along is an alderman; he is largely indulging in savory visions of turtle soup, etc., to become realities on Heenan’s arrival. Yonder slender gentleman dreams of a subterranean railroad; his companion, of crystallized carbon. This aged female speculates on the probability of Massachusetts’ becoming a tea-growing state; that young lady on the expansion of crinoline and a universe of beaux; that matron of maturer years on the misery of war and a flounced dress.
Step into the counting house — the clerks are dreaming of next Sunday. Enter the warehouse — a dashing nag courses through the merchants brain. Go to the barber’s — even while lathering you, Sambos’ wooly head is filled with visions of a future Dinah and a dozen dusky little darkeys. Peep into the editor’s room — but here there is no dreaming; all is real.
Thus, then, we are all going through a series of visions from the cradle to the grave; and is not the land beyond the grave a land of visions?
F.C. Raymond
Page 6, Entry 6 (Newspaper clipping).
July 21st, 1860.
THE ADOPTED CITIZEN
We publish this week an interesting correspondence from New Jersey. By the-by, will the writer oblige us by writing more frequently.
Elizabeth, N.J. July 16, 1860
EDS. Adopted Citizen, — Dear Sir: —
Your courageous little paper has already invaded this remote land of New Jersey; the weekly issue of the Adopted Citizen regularly claims its place among the periodicals exposed for sale at the single newspaper depot in this pretty little city. Observing your invitation and inducement to contributors, and aware of your partiality to items of Catholic news and events of importance, I shall take it upon myself to inform you of certain circumstances that have lately engrossed the common conversation here. To tell you the truth, they are the only matters that have really aroused attention here, at least during the three years since I emigrated to this place. To be sure, the arrival of a stranger is a notable affair, and so is a runaway horse, or a lame dog, or a group of a dozen individuals; still these create merely a secondary interest, while the transactions of which I am about to speak have set the tongues of the whole community a-going.
Perhaps, however, you would like in the first place to become a little acquainted with this city of Elizabeth — the fairest flower of New Jersey. It was one of the earliest settlements of the Union. Jacob Van Kuyter and his hardy little band of Dutchmen, attracted by the beauties of Elizabethport, established themselves here. The town then increased rapidly until the wars of the Dutch, when it sank into a sober, settled village. Ten years since it took a fresh start, gained a municipal charter, and now rivals Newark; being extensively engaged in trade with New York, Philadelphia, and the coal districts of Pennsylvania. As an instance of the revolutionary spirit of the city’s ancestors, it is the tradition that on the rumor of the passage of a body of Hessians nearby, the whole town, men, women and children, enthusiastically armed themselves, and rushing to the outskirts of the village awaited with patriotic ardor the coming of the enemy. The Hessians, however, were reserved for another fate; the glory of their capture was destined for Washington. This time they met neither with undeserved success, nor yet with defeat; but the lion of New Jersey was aroused, and had his paw but grasped the foe, who can imagine the consequences?
You may therefore, Mr. Editor, establish it as a fact that New Jersey only wants to get aroused to become wide-awake.
To return now to the news of the past week. Our venerable prelate, the Right Rev. Bishop Bayley, on the 12th administered confirmation here to upwards of a hundred children, the chosen body of this thriving little parish. Their appearance was worthy of their religion. As the boys and girls slowly and solemnly filed up the nave of our new church, something of the sublimity of the scene must have impressed itself even on one not of our faith. I certainly never before witnessed such a sight. I have seen thousands marching up the long aisles of churches more stately than even this continent can boast, while gigantic organs pealed forth their majestic notes; but the scene could not surpass the humbler grandeur of the spectacle exhibited in the village church. The address of the Bishop was worthy of the man, of the time, and of the place: every word of it was so well chosen, so appropriate and necessary, that any attempt to to transcribe it unless entire, (which unfortunately I am unable to do,) would be but to mutilate it.
Another matter of much discussion is the late baptism by immersion of twenty four converted brethren among the Baptists of Newark. I was not myself present at the ceremony. I did not care to be. It would not have interested me much; nor do I think the recital of it would greatly interest you, since it is always the same cold, lifeless act, except when it occasionally chances to be quite happily (for tired spectators) varied by a more thorough dunking than desirable, or by the involuntary immersion and second baptism of the officiating minister himself.
Hoping that these items may be acceptable to you and your readers, I remain,
respectfully yours.
Emile Fitzbrun.
P.S. I have just been informed that the evening train from New York will bring down six handsome beaux to stay for the summer. I need assure you there are many already in ecstasies, for beaux, it is well known, are rare in this part of the world.
Pages 7-9, Entry 7 (Newspaper clipping).
August 4th, 1860
Written for the Elizabeth Unionist.
Spanish Loyalty.
An Episode in the History of Spain
By F. C. Raymond
CHAP. I.
On one of the hills that encircled the beautiful Vega of Grenada, there formerly stood a lofty fortress which overhung the principal pass that led into Christian Spain. In the time of the Moorish Monarch, Boabdil, this castle was inhabited by a Moslem chieftain, known throughout the country by the designation of El Zegri, — in our language, The Fierce. For forty years this chieftain had commanded the important post to which his sovereign had appointed him; for forty years he had vindicated his fame as one of the best officers of the Saracen army, and the most deadly enemy of the foes of Mahomet. None, indeed, of all the infidel host, could boast of greater ardor in the pursuit of the Christians; none loved better to enslave or slaughter them, peasants as well as nobles, women and children, even the babe at the breast.
The Moslem lord passed most of his time sitting in the loftiest tower of his mighty mansion, and his eagle eye never left the road that led towards the provinces of the Spaniards. When he remarked the return of his spies, who ever watched the unguarded moment of the Christians, his heart beat high to learn their news; his breast swelled with impatience, and he would fly down the turret stairs, leap on his charger, and dash on to meet his messenger, burning to learn if there was a prospect of another expedition against his hated adversaries. And if the spy could tell of the fatal negligence of a Spanish fortress, the face of that old warrior, now beyond his sixtieth year, would light up with a glare of fury, of fiendish delight; he would hasten back to his den, arouse his soldiers, and fly at their head to seize on his wretched prey.
One morning a scout rode in view of the old Saracen’s stronghold and El Zegri, as he was wont, flew down to meet him. But he was noticed to delay with his messenger longer than usual, to make more enquiries of him, to listen to his answers with more than ordinary attention; and when he returned he rode slowly, and his head was bent down in thought. Arriving at the courtyard, he gave his horse into the hands of a groom, delivered some orders to an attendant, and passed silently up to his own apartment in the castle. He sat a moment in his chair to collect his thoughts, then wrote a message to the Sultan of Grenada. The message reads thus:
“El Zegri, commander of Ilcouzil, to El Boabdil, sovereign of Grenada:
The Christian Lord, De Guzman, is negligent in his fortress, and I haste to tear it from him. Mahomet’s foes have assembled under their monarchs, and are now four day’s journey from the Ge Guzman’s castle, six from Grenada. Let your officers be wary and on the watch; send a trusty man to fill my place in my absence, for there is danger in the expedition which I undertake.”
Having dispatched this missive, he proceeded to buckle on his armor, and afterwards came down again into the courtyard. Here he found a good band of his followers in waiting, while adventurers who had been appraised by signal, poured in from the surrounding country. At length some five hundred cavaliers were assembled, all cased in mail. El Zegri took his station at their head and led the way. The tramping of the troops thundered over the drawbridge; a moment they glanced at the Vega with all its verdant beauties spread out on one side of them, and at the rough road on the other, then passed on and were lost in the defiles of the mountains. Those who noticed the Moslem chief on that day, said that he seemed more calm than customary; but they knew not it was the calmness of desperation — the calmness of passion. Of all the Christians El Zegri hated most De Guzman; and certainly he would not have exposed himself to so much peril, to go within so few days journey of the royal army, to revenge his king or his prophet, or anyone at all but himself.
CHAP. II.
The Marquis De Guzman, on whom the Saracen’s wrath was about to burst, lived at a distance of a little more than two days journey from his enemies. In age he was nearly equal to his adversary; in feats of arms he had often commanded the admiration of Europe, and was esteemed among the most redoubtable knights along the Moorish borders. At this time he was engaged in preparing for the reception of Ferdinand and Isabella, who, with a large number of troops were expected to stop there on their way to chastise the Infidels. Trusting to the near vicinity of the royal forces whom he believed to be within three or four days march, and hourly approaching, he did not deem it necessary to maintain that vigilance which he would otherwise have considered imperative. The sentinels and officers on duty caught this feeling of security from their leader, so much so that they accounted an occasional rest on their guard a matter of no great importance.
The old Marquis had an only son, just grown into manhood, on whom he looked with all a father’s pride and affection. This son, on the second day after El Zegri’s departure from Ilcouzil, had gone out several miles from his parent’s castle on a pleasure party, along with many ladies and gentlemen, who had congregated in the neighborhood to be present at the arrival of the sovereigns. They had arrived at a little grassy valley, surrounded by mountains, whose high, bleak tops rose high above the verdure that covered their sides. Here they rested, spread out their noonday meal, and the grove soon resounded with their feasting and rejoicing.
By chance, one of the party, in the act of raising the wine cup to his lips, cast his eyes straight before him. What does he see that he starts back speechless, with eyes aghast in fear and horror, and drops the goblet from his trembling hands? The Moslems are upon them! An instant more, and shouts of terror on the one hand, and the war-cry of the Moors, “El Zegri! Strike for the Prophet!” fills the woods and echoes from the mountains. El Zegri was indeed there. By day and night he had toiled on with his companions, over mountains and through ravines, over rivers and torrents, he urged by revenge, they by the hope of fame and booty. Fortune had now thrown the Christians in their way. But yet they were not to conquer them without a struggle. The Spanish cavaliers, prompted by their own valor, grasped their swords at once, and spurred to desperation by the imminent danger of the helpless females who cried around them for protection, made many an Islamite bite the dust, and fought until overpowered and slain by the numbers that pressed on them.
Of all the Christian knights only one remained; El Zegri wanted few prisoners. The young De Guzman had in vain dashed into the thickest of the combat; in vain he had killed four of his foes; the Saracens for some reason would not kill him; they preferred to have him their captive. A small guard was left to conduct the miserable remains of the pleasure party to Grenada, while El Zegri, with his single warrior prisoner, pushed on to grasp his long-sought prey.
CHAP. III.
At last the Moslems reached the fortress of De Guzman; but if the old man had been negligent before, he was certainly not so now. Two fugitives who had escaped amid the slaughter of their companions, arriving a short distance in advance of the Moors, carried the news of their arrival and attack to the Christian commander. De Guzman immediately sent a messenger to hasten the arrival of the royal army, which should have been by this time within two days journey, called his forces together within his castle, drew up the draw-bridge, closed the gates, arranged the archers that their places, buckled on his armor, and calmly awaited the enemy, who were already in sight.
El Zegri halted with arrow shot of the fortress, and presently a horseman bearing a white flag, was seen coming from the Infidel body toward the Spaniards. The herald demanded admittance to parlay with the commander. But De Guzman only stepped forth upon the battlements with his principal officers around him, and cried, — “Speak your tidings where you are.” The Moslems been declared, “that the great chief El Zegri, ordered the immediate surrender of the castle and all in it to his mercy; and that he had sworn, if this order was refused, to raze it to the ground, and put to death all in it, as he would, on the herald’s return, slay the commander’s only son.” De Guzman cast a glance toward the Saracen array, and they’re beheld his only son kneeling on the ground, with his hands behind his back, while a Moor stood on either side, holding an uplifted axe. The gleam of the steel, as the sun’s rays flashed back from it, pierced the father’s heart and numbed all its powers of action. He stood like one in a trance; the silence around was intense, fearfully so; the steel clad warriors stirred not even the rings of their mail; every face grew pale at the words of the herald.
The messenger demanded an answer to his summons. The commander at that sound return to life, and bade him wait a few moments, then motioning his officers to follow, stepped into his counsel room. Seating himself in his chair of office, and laying his helmet on the table beside him, he requested the opinion of each one present as to his reply.
It was a terrible thing for those officers; they were called pronounce sentence of life or death on their leader’s only son; such at least to them seemed the only point at issue, so completely was their own danger forgotten in the wretched position of their general. Many, out of affection, advised to let the soldier of Mahomet have his will, and give up to him their post. Some spoke of a sudden sortie, hoping that the unexpected fierceness of the attack might paralyze their enemies, as it were, or by making them look to their own safety, obtain time to rescue the captive. But they knew not the Saracen foe. A few old veterans, when it came their turn to speak, hung down their heads and were silent; for neither could they find it in their hearts to counsel the father against the life of his child, nor yet consent to the ignominy, the treachery of abandoning their post.
De Guzman read the thoughts of all. When the last had ended he arose, and merely saying, “Follow me,” again walked forth on the battlements. He turned to the herald and spoke in a clear, composed voice, which not a sound, not a throb interrupted: “Tell your Moslem master, that De Guzman has received this castle in charge from his sovereign, and to none but his sovereign will he render it up. And tell him, too,” — he did not falter yet, — “blood weighs not with my King.”
It was a sad sight to behold that aged man, like another Brutus, sacrificing his son. His long, white hair hanging down on his iron armor, his eyes lit up with a fire that glowed along his face all furrowed with wrinkles, his full, manly countenance, sorrowful, yet stern, unrelenting even for a son, when duty clashed against affection. Not a heart was there that did not soften, not a breast that was not fired with enthusiasm, not a hand that grasped not a sword, eager for battle. Their heavy mail rung out as they moved to their stations, and there they stood with no hope, no will, no soul for anything but victory or death.
As the herald wrote off De Guzman forbore to look at him, and retired to his place within the fortress. But those who watched the movements of the Saracens, after El Zegri had again spoken with his emissary, saw for a moment the gleam of two axes, and then beheld the head of the Christian prisoner roll on the ground. No sound on either side gave notice that the work was consummated. The Spaniards who observed it tightened their grasp on their swords; the Moors were not all ferocious enough to exult over such cruelty. The Morisco chief seemed indeed beside himself with joy; he gazed long and steadily at the bleeding body, he spurned it with his foot; looking from the murdered child to the castle which held the parent, he muttered, “The father suffers through his son.”
When he was somewhat sated with the spectacle he ordered his soldiers to storm the castle. A shower of arrows greeted them, but nothing daunted, they moved on fearlessly. Brave and fierce was the onset, as bravely and fiercely was it received. For two days every inch of the battlements was a thousand times contested for. Many a hero fell on both sides. At last El Zegri, despairing of success, resolved no longer to continue in such hazard as he was while the royal army was in three days journey. True it had for some reason delayed its further progress, but the news of the presence of the Moors must’ve reached it. He turned, therefore, on his road homeward to Grenada.
This route led him through the same valley that had been the scene of the late massacre. He arrived at the spot where the Spanish knights had been slain, but he found a detachment of Christian cavaliers awaiting to revenge on him their slaughter. The contest begins; the crescent falls before the cross. De Guzman by some chance is there, and he singles out the murderer of his son. The Christian and the Infidel fight; they fall, but the Morisco lord lies stiff in death, but the stamp of hell on his countenance. The Spaniard’s wound is not mortal. Of all that brilliant array that set out on that expedition with El Zegri, not one ever carried the tidings of his fate back to Ilcouzil.
Pages 10-11, Entry 8 (Newspaper clipping).
THE ADOPTED CITIZEN.
Saturday, August 11, 1860.
States Hotel, Saratoga, Aug. 4.
EDS. Adopted Citizen, — Dear Sirs: —
Your welcome sheet, after a roundabout course brought me the pleasant information that you take interest enough in New Jersey to attach some importance to the news of one of its chief cities. It was my intention to speak further of Elizabeth, but I was brought to a decided standstill by the formidable fact that Elizabeth news was all “played out.” Here was a halt; my venerated uncle however helped me on by the very natural suggestion: “Let Jersey go to the bugs; talk of where you are now.” “Good advice,” remarks the proverb, “is a Pearl not to be cast aside.”
Now, when so much has been spoken and scribbled about watering places and summer resorts, and when every penny daily has a special correspondent at each particular one, it is slightly difficult to find anything new to say of them. None on the continent can stand description unless the Salt Lake of Utah, or the North Pole, and these I shall not attempt to describe without ocular knowledge. A few words, therefore about the people who are here; for they, like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, though always the same, present different pictures according as they vary in disposition.
I experienced a foretaste of my Saratoga friends on my way up the North River in one of the steamers. A party of young “bloods,” having resolved on adopting the water cure, congregated together for the purpose of destroying the liquors which they chanced to have with them at the time. After patiently spilling a considerable quantity of said spirits down their throats, their heroic and persevering act filled them with such an exuberance of gladness that they could not refrain from breaking forth into cheers of exultation and loud applause of each other’s scourge. Lest, however, injury might come to them, a deputation was sent exhorting them to moderate their joy. But they were so firmly bent on water cure, now became displeased, in vindication of their conduct they convened a general assembly of the passengers, and each in turn for upwards of two hours fiercely declared himself “to be a citizen of these free United States of America,” and yelled out at the highest pitch of his voice that “gag law won’t go down with citizens of these free United States of America.”
Whether the audience were finally convinced by these weighty and pertinent arguments, I cannot exactly state, inasmuch as I went to sleep while the discussion was impending to dream that citizenship in the United States constituted a universal defense.
On reaching Saratoga in the morning, I was much struck by the number of maiden aunts and matronly ladies rather beyond their prime, and homely females of whatever age, that were visible in the streets around the porticos of the hotels. I was told they make their appearance thus early in the day, in order to bring about by the celerity of their attack those conquests which the fairer portion of their allies lose by delay, even while possessed of greater forces. A very pretty style of hat seems bent on coming into fashion among the young ladies here; it especially resembles the round caps which we are so accustomed to see on the heads of the Chinese cigar merchants of Broadway. With the exception of these hats, our daughters, wives and aunts look just as they do when they go out for a walk or visit any day in the week.
The principal duty of ladies residing at Saratoga, after dressing themselves, is to visit the springs, sip a moment from a glass of mineral waters, quiz everybody around, make the person who distributes the beverage as much trouble as conveniently possible, and then leave him with no other remuneration than the honor conferred by her presence and her deigning to drink under his roof, — a good reward for a rich prince, but a wretched one for a fellow whose only support is public patronage. The water from the Congress spring is altogether the best; the proper time to drink it is in the evening just before it is salted for the next day. The other springs are not remarkable, except that of High Rock where the water is constantly found at the top of a rock five feet above the ground. Most ladies on their first visit to the springs, go to all of them and drink a glass of each. In the end they become sick, but what the sickness is, nobody knows; a friend suggested that they get tight.
The hotels of Saratoga, being generally spread over much ground, seldom more than two stories high, and fronted with immense pillars, have the classical appearance of Athenian Parthenous. At the same time, however, being painted with a clean white and having green blinds at the windows, they seem to promise a mansion where you can have neatness at least, if not comfort and ease. I am not posted up on the precise number of persons in town; but the number of eggs consumed at a single hotel is nearly two thousand dozen per diem. Imagine the bacon necessary to match such a quantity!
It would have been an amusing thing to hear of all the actions of the country folks round about on the appearance of that meteor last week. One jumped out of bed, crying, “the Lord is coming,” and went outside to see of his house were burnt to ashes. Another on horseback scampered home to tell his woman folks, who directly put the teapot on the fire again and made sundry other preparations towards considering the event with becoming solemnity. A third fell into a ditch; an incipient poet went mad, but his wife has since cured him; in fine, a dozen rustics with mouths agape and eyes stretched wide open stared straight before them without moving a muscle for an hour afterwards.
Well, the idea of this meteor is so bright that I can’t easily get a brighter, so it is best for me to end with it. Farewell and success to you.
Emile Fitzbrun.
Page 11, Entry 9 (Newspaper clipping).
August 18, 1860
THE ELIZABETH UNIONIST.
ELIZABETH,,:::: N. J.
Saturday morning, AUG. 18, 1860.
For the Elizabeth Unionist.
The Lady Clemence.
A Ballad from the French.
By Frances.
In one of the cities of Provence, the troubadours formerly held yearly contests, the prize consisting of three gold flowers, the Marigold, a violet, and a wild rose. The origin of this custom is set forth in the following Romance.
The lady Clemence at Toulouse dwelt,
Fairest of fair maidens she;
The knight Alphonse burnt with her love; —
Requited was his constancy.
But rigid parents their love opposed, —
Thus woes all tender hearts betide; —
Lautree, the father of Clemence,
Makes her another’s destined bride.
True to her lover, Clemence implores;
“Let your anger release my sad soul;
My life to my father most surely belongs,
But my heart is at Alphonse’s control.”
But love than vengeance less could charm;
Clemence is prisoned in a tower;
Alphonse, like the bird with its mate encag’d
At the dungeon’s base sighs many an hour.
One night Clemence hears her lover’s voice,
And weeping to the window flies;
“Alphonse, yield we to the storm; —
One only refuge is;” she cries.
“The king of the French go seek you now,
And bear these flowers to gage my vow.”
“The wild rose the flower I love,
The violet’s hue is my delight,
The marigold my sadness tells;
All three will witness to my plight.
Take them, and may they, moistened with
my tears,
Recall our loves, our griefs, our fears.”
She said; and through the windows bars
Down to Alphonse the flower she threw;
He to his breast close presses them,
Then flies, for Lautree is in view.
Now war bursts forth; the English foes
Dark o’er the walls of Toulouse lower;
Alphonse returns, to finds his friends
Sinking beneath the invader’s power.
One aged citizen yet resists;
Alphonse fast to his succor flies: —
Lautree is saved, but his good friend
Wounded to death beside him lies.
“O cruel father of my friend,
Who hast refused me for thy son,”
Alphonse dying thus began,
“My vengeance with thy life is won.”
“To Clemence give thou my farewell,
And bear to her these bloody flowers; —
Let me but kiss them once again
In memory of her lonely hours.”
Alphonse expires; his three prized flowers
Lautree to his wretched daughter takes;
She, ere soon she lowly lies in death,
With trembling hand her will thus makes:
Each year, three golden flowers, she bids,
In honor of her love and woes,
To the best of troubadours be given, —
Violet, marigold and wild rose.
Elizabeth, Aug. 11th, 1860.
Pages 12, Entry 10 (Newspaper clipping).
September 1, 1860.
HERALD AND VISITOR
SATURDAY MORNING, Sept. 1. 1860.
PUZZLERS CORNER.
Poetical Enigma
Weary-trudging, plodding onward school-boy,
Claim my aid, thy task is ended;
Trembling, faltering sinner, turn thee heavenward;
If I help, thy way is wended.
Ye troubled and heart-sore, I am your ease;
Ye perjured and guilty ne’er can I please.
By high and low, or great or small,
I’m sought and begged and prized by all.
No prince can hold me, no monarch command,
I am sovereign of all save under God’s hand.
O fear me, then, fear me, mortals all;
Onward, onward, must ye at my call.
F. C. R.
Pages 12-17, Entry 11 (Newspaper clipping).
THE ELIZABETH UNIONIST.
Saturday morning, Sep. 1, 1860
.
Written for the Elizabeth Unionist,
THE FATE OF RHODIUM.
By F. C. Raymond.
PART I.
Along the Mediterranean not far distant from Carthage, was situated, about the middle of the seventh century, the commonwealth of Opeia. Originally a colony of the Roman emperors, it had been subjected, first to their imperial sway, and afterwards to the barbarians, until now it was nominally a dependent on Constantinople, though in reality an independent state. Its government seem to be a republic; but a republic in which every public office had long been monopolized by the wealthy or nobles. The administration was naturally a one-sided one; the nobles, being exclusive rulers, were ever lenient when themselves were in fault, cruel when the lower classes acted wrongly, and never wavering when their own interest was in question. The consequences—the quarrels and licentiousness that every where ensued—may be easily imagined; in no part of the State, however, were they worse than in its capital, Rhodium. The city, with a harbor opening to it a commerce with all the maritime ports then known, with a position making it an important mart for traffic across the Great Desert, possessed a trade surpassed by few cities in Africa, an opulence equal to that of any. Here resided the president or governor of the republic, together with its principal officers; yet nowhere were license and injustice carried to a greater excess. An instance of this and its results are what we purpose here to relate.
When affairs were in the condition just mentioned, the son of one of the chief officers, while passing through one of the streets of the city, was met and stopped on his way by an aged, poorly attired man. A few words passed between them, the import of which none lingered to learn; on a sudden, however, the young noble growing angry drew his dagger from his side and, without any hesitation, plunged it into the breast of his companion. The old man fell and expired without a groan. Drawing the weapon from the bleeding carcass, the murderer wiped it on the skirt of his robe, and replaced it in its sheath; smiling at his act, he walked leisurely on his road. None stopped him; none set up a cry after him; none seemed to be aware of the deed. Those whose journey led them by the dead body, whether stunned by so glaring an act of wickedness, or inured to such scenes by repetition and conscious at the same time of their inability to resent them, glanced at it in silence and moved on, delaying perhaps through curiosity to ask the assassins name. “Claudius, the Secretary son,” was the ready answer, for the culprit’s name was no secret; but it affected him not
Gradually, as ever happens in similar cases, a crowd of idlers collected around the place. They were presently joined by a somewhat meanly dressed man, in appearance about twenty-eight or thirty years of age, though in reality he wanted five years of it, which misery and dissipation had added to his countenance. He was of medium size, rather stoutly built; his head was large, his forehead high and intelligent, his eyes sunk and restless but possessed of a sharp glance; his mouth was usually tinged with an expression of half scorn, half of unhappiness. He seemed a body having a giant mind once mighty, but now debilitated, yet not destroyed by disease. Less than one half his life had been spent at Rhodium; he came thither when about fifteen years old, at which time he adopted the designation of Ethion.
For some reason the group towards which she adjourned, ceased their talking were conversed only in whispers as he drew near. The cause was soon explained when the new-comer, asking carelessly of an acquaintance, “What victim is here now?” received for an answer: “Alas! it is your turn to be sad today, my poor friend; your father is the latest sacrifice to the nobles.” Hardly had the speaker uttered these last words, before Ethion, elbowing his way through the crowd, arrived at the corpse. He cast one quick glance at the features; in another instant he was on the ground feeling for the pulse which beat no longer, carrying open the bloody tunic and placing first his hand and then his ear over the heart of his murdered parent. The dagger had pierced through that heart, but the son in his frantic grief saw it not. Now resting on his knees he stared vacantly on the body before him; while down from the side of his face which had passed against the breast of the slain, drops of blood trickled on his garments. Those who saw that son, with all the strength and fire and passion of manhood in him, crazed at the sight of the dead old man, ruthless and reckless as they were, felt themselves moved by new feelings. Filled with respect they looked on in silence.
Their very silence aroused Ethion; his dream was over. Springing to his feet, the flush of a new passion lit up his face; filial affection had burned brightly in his breast, but it was now dimmed by the fiercer flame of anger. His eyes glared fearfully around. “What seek you here, my friends?” he said. “Is it so uncommon for a poor man to be killed by a noble that you must run from your house to see it? Have you yourselves lost fathers or brothers and come to pity me? Away with pity! it aids me not. Where is justice? Do you tell me, Go, pray the lord governor to sit him in court and summon a noble for slaying merely a humble man? You might ask justice as well for an injured dog. You get a couple of fair words, perchance, while your oppressor escaped with at most a short sentence of censure. What! put to death a noble for slaying a poor man? You would be laughed at. Would you behold your dearest relatives slaughtered like that poor creature? Then look at my father there and pass on; mutilated as he is, your eyes will behold your nearest and best loved in a week, or a month, or a year. Be ye idiots to suffer such deeds? Will ye not kick against the fate that awaits you all?” “It is of no use,” he muttered to himself, as those who occasionally stopped to listen, and on whom he wished to press revenge, passed on again little caring for his words, “it is of no use to talk to slaves like these; they have grown to the yoke.”
Suddenly the thought occurred to him, that he had been outraged with more impunity by the nobles because he had once been a stranger in the city, and that for the same reason even the lowest classes had less sympathy with him. The thought maddened him. He no longer sought to move the crowd; seizing the corpse, he placed it on his shoulder and, unmindful, unconscious of all around, proceeded to the little cabin which formed his abode. As he went on he revolved many a scheme of vengeance in his mind. His resentment would have at first directed him against Claudius alone; but remembering how the governor all the nobles, by their course of conduct not to punish the assassin, were sharers in his guilt, he became enraged equally at them; and lastly, when he recalled how the sympathy of the people (as he believed) was refused him, he burned for revenge on all.
That night, as he stood under the pure canopy of heaven outside the city walls by the new made grave of his father, his resolution was taken; he was calm and cool now; his mind was determined. With one hand on the breast of his parent, he swore by whatever he held dear and sacred, that he would have vengeance on Rhodium—on Rhodium wherein he had been injured, where there was no justice.
He then returned toward the city and was admitted within the walls by a small postern or night gate. Arriving at his house he found it possessed by a single occupant, a woman, who sat near the hearthstone with her face buried in her hands resting upon her knees. At the sound of Ethion’s entrance, she raised her head, exposing to view her face which, such as would even ordinarily be called handsome, now possessed that peculiar charm which grief alone can impart. She was evidently not more than two and twenty years of age. She was not the wife of Ethion, but she expected to be soon married to him; and on this account her love for him already caused her to lament his father’s loss has her own; she could not but be grieved in his excessive grief.
She was the first to break the silence which ensued after Ethion’s arrival, by asking: “Is he lain in his resting place?” alluding to the murdered.
“He lies now were none can harm him more,” answered the young man. “Nobody marked the place wherein I laid him; not even thou, Callia, knowest of it, and I too shall forget it while he sleeps unavenged.”
“Alas! that the people have no strength to take vengeance for their wrongs. But it seems as if some power must demand retribution, if not here, yet in another existence.”
“Think not so; if here be the wrong, here must be the punishment. But why talk of this now? Time is flying fast. Callia, when tomorrow dawns I shall be on my way from Rhodium; of my return I know nothing except that it cannot be for long, long years to come; perhaps not until my hair be white as snow. O! Callia! Callia!” he continued in a tone of misery as if his heart would break, “it sickens me, it well nigh destroys all life within me, to know that I must give thee up to be another’s bride. I shall come back after many wretched years, and behold my Callia the spouse of another,” he uttered the words slowly, while every syllable seemed to choke him.
But now Callia interrupted him. She had listened in silence to the sad news of Ethion’s sudden departure, gazing on him as if ignorant that he spoke; she was in a dream. But when her love was impeached, she became broad awake; she stood erect, and a single tear glistened in her eye she replied with proud affection:
“Ethion, thou mistakest me. If an eternity were given to me to wait for thee, I should not be found untrue.” She proceeded in a voice of deep pathos. “Yet whither go you that your Callia may not follow? what are they dangers, thy toils that Callia may not share them? A week hence and the ties of marriage would have given me the right always to be with you. O! if thou in any way lovest me, refuse not now to my love that which I should so soon have had by right!” She fell on her knees and clasped her hands in supplication. If Ethion had suffered himself to look in her upturned, imploring eyes, he must’ve been overcome.
“Callia, it cannot be,” answered the wretched man, turning his head aside. The young woman’s head fell down; Ethion raised her and placed her in a chair.
“Yet must you go, and so soon?” she asked after a pause, while a sudden ray of hope passed her countenance.
“Callia,” said the young man, who amid his companion’s silence had regained resolution, “Callia, I have sworn to make this journey; and though thy prayers, thy entreaties may have moved me for a moment they cannot turn me from it. My purpose is a holy one; it admits no delay; it cannot be avoided. When my oath engaged me to it, I had first weighed everything— even thine own love, Callia, as well as mine. Life would not have weighed in the balance with that; the object that I had intended to say it to none; it needs but few words—vengeance for my father’s slaughter.“
It was indeed sufficient. The unfortunate Callia knew her lover too well to conceive any further hope of inducing him not to leave the city. She knew that passion was strong within him; she knew when that urged him on his way, opposition was useless. She therefore ceased her entreaties, and proceeded to assist him in preparing to set out for the following dawn.
Early the next morning, a man with a bundle in hand and equipped for long travel, passed through the gates and beyond the walls of Rhodium. That day and the next, that week, that month, his wonted companions missed Ethion from the city; that year and several more passed on and his memory faded from among them.
PART SECOND.
Five and thirty years have passed since the events just narrated, yet scarce a change is perceptible and Opeia. The government, the officers are the same, unless more than ever corrupt; the people bend to the same bondage.
At this time among the merchants that came to Rhodium, was one who brought more than an ordinary quantity of the richest merchandise. What was further remarkable, he was quite desirous of disposing of it in the city, so much so that he suffered most of it to depart at less than its full value, and distributed the greater share of the remainder as presents among the chief officials. The result of his well directed liberality was in part immediate; for the governor, contrary to the law and custom which ordained that merchants of foreign lands should lodge only in the merchants’ quarters, invited the wealthy stranger to a residence in his own palace. The next day, when the merchant signified his intention of remaining permanently in the town, he was directly, with only a faint shadow of formality, admitted to citizenship. Hereupon he proceeded to buy for himself a lordly, magnificent mansion, which he furnished with every luxury that the greatest opulence can command.
The merchant was an old man, with hair so white that he seemed nearly seventy years old. If he was of that age, however, he was free from its usual weaknesses; his frame, once athletic and muscular, still retained most of its former vigor; the weight of time had not bent his back; his head was thrown as proudly erect as that of any man in the fullness of manhood. At the same time, his ever-piercing black eyes that peered out from far beneath a large forehead, gave evidence that the spirit within was not less active than the body. But that look, as it seemed searching through one, made him feel uneasy, and as if it boded him no good; besides, he who could bear return it firmly, might detect in those eyes something of cunning, something of dissatisfaction also there. This glance fully seen, added to a face deeply furrowed with wrinkles, gave an expression of hypocrisy and malice to the whole countenance.
The old man, after becoming a citizen, was known by the name of Evigius. He pretended to be desirous of leading a quiet, secluded, private life, yet he took care to use his endeavors to make himself known by all and popular among every class. His house was continually open to the nobles and the rich, and when they visited him once he knew how to offer the right allurement for their future coming and their friendship henceforward. Occasionally he would introduce some spectacle or games for the amusement of the populace, and they, gratified by an act so pleasing yet so rare, readily extended him their good will. Still he did not affect to be much solicitous about their welfare, for this he knew would excite the contempt and suspicion of the reigning orders.
After residing about eight months in the city, the term of the principal secretary was left vacant by death; the duty of choosing a successor devolved upon the president. The office being lucrative and important had many aspirants after it; but Evigius had only to hint that he desired the place, and it was at once offered him. Six months more passed on, and the administration of the existing president was on the eve of expiring. Strange to say, Evigius came forward as a competitor for the sovereignty of Opeia. He met with a single opponent—Claudius, the son of a former Secretary. Among the nobles, the candidates were on equal terms; among the people, the more recent stranger met more favor. But greater wealth must conquer, above all when virtue enters not into the scale; the ambition of Claudius himself was finally given over for gold. The nobles and people of Opeia, whether it were that the liberality of Evigius subdued them, or that the amazement with which they had been struck at his unexpected position caused them to act mechanically, elected him their president.
The proceedings of the new governor at his inauguration and afterwards, were all in the common order and attracted no special remark. Unseen but steadily he began to make accessions to his authority, until nothing of importance could be transacted in the State without his permission. The military, all the city guards depended on him alone for their movements.
After entering upon his high office, two new features became noticeable in him; one that his beneficence and liberality were at an end; the other, that he keeps under him a servant, a stranger like himself, who, in proportion as he shunned all others, appeared deep in his master’s confidence was frequently engaged in journeys of several days duration. None knew whence this servant came; none guessed the object of his repeated absence.
One day in the fifth month of Evigius’ career as governor, twelve merchants came to the city. This would not of itself have attracted extraordinary attention; but when they were found to have accepted a lodging at the presidential palace, surprise was general, and mutterings of dislike were not uncommon; for the limiting of the merchants to their proper quarters was, for some reason, an ordinance much respected and insisted upon by all classes of the citizens. If any however had serious thoughts of resentment, they kept them silent at least for that day.
It wanted three hours of midnight, when Evigius with one fourth of his new friends made the circuit of the city and viewed the disposition of the night watch. At midnight, a messenger, who had effected his entrance to the town by a private portal brought him tidings at which he rose again with his twelve confederates. Equipped in warriors’ garb with stout swords by their sides, they sallied forth without noise. The city had four great gates, to each of which in turn they advanced, overpowered and slew the guards who on this night had been reduced in number as much as appearance could allow. At each conquered gate three of the conspirators were stationed. When Evigius had ended with the last great portal, he advanced out on the battlements, below which the city lay spread out before him. The rays of the moon, finding their way at intervals through the clouds, showed it lying there in peace, in happy slumber. Could anyone meditate harm to the inmates of those silent rows of houses resting so calmly? Evigius looked outside the city and saw near the wall a dark mass as of a considerable array of men. He turned again to the town. In his hand he held a trumpet; placing it to his mouth, he drew a long blast loud and clear. Far around it resounded until it echoed back from the hills beyond Rhodium. A moment silence again assumed her reign, and then a deafening shout rose up on every side, the gates flew open, and an army of foemen rushed in with unearthly yells upon the unguarded town.
Evigius yet stood where he had rung out the knell of Rhodium. He seemed like an outcast angel of Paradise that loves to make hideous all fair in nature; he seemed like the prince of fiends giving the signal for subordinates to fly to deeds of wickedness worthy of hell alone. Fearful was his laugh as he cried: “Now, Ethion, now comes thy revenge!” He hurried down the turret stairs, and led on a body of the invaders to whom he gave but one command: “Spare none!” O, well they performed their part that dark night! They slew the startled, unresisting inhabitants until their arms grew weary with the work of blood; but ever a voice sounded in their ears, urging them on: “Spare none!”
The hostile troop that filled Rhodium was a band of Saracens from a fort about seventy miles distant. The Moslems had already frequently invaded Africa, but only small bands penetrated as far as Carthage, and none went further; the larger armies preferred to battle in other regions. Beyond Carthage was Rhodium, a city impregnable through its strong and vigilant garrison by any unless a respectable body of forces. Ethion, therefore, whom we have seen abandoning all he loved and leaving the city to devote his energies to gain vengeance, found that his object could be attained only by treason; and that even this would not be successful if he were not first to acquire a considerable and commanding position in the town. Gold alone, he believed, could effect this, and hence to become wealthy was his immediate aim. In pursuit of it he ran many hazards; he became a prisoner in Persia, a captive in Arabia, and thrice a shipwrecked, impoverished merchant; yet still he struggled anew, his thirst for vengeance only increasing. At last he was rich, rich enough for all his evil ends; he returned to Rhodium, gained a post which made his purpose easy, and then opened a correspondence with Zuheir, the leader of a band of Islamites, numbering some nine hundred or thereabouts, quartered in a castle, as we have said, about seventy miles distant. The Moslem was only too glad to accede to the proposal which offered him the booty of Rhodium, and hesitated little at the traitor’s sole stipulation, that “Rhodium was to be razed, its inhabitants to be slain.” The demand was granted, and the Saracens were now for filling their agreement.
The Moslems, however, had still something human left in them, and, unlike old Evigius, became glutted at last with carnage. Zuheir, caring as little for his confederation with the governor of Rhodium, now that his aid was unnecessary, as he himself had cared for his former townsmen, when several thousands had now been sacrificed to vengeance, ordered the mercy of the Koran to be granted the city—only the resisting were to be slain. Evigius in vain opposed it; his rage and protestations were alike powerless. And now the cup which had tasted to him so sweet, began to grow bitter as his first disappointment met him; yet still he rejoiced when he saw Rhodium wrapt in flames and its inhabitants, freeman no longer, moving on well-guarded towards the fortress of the Mohomedan oppressor. He rode backward and forward along that wretched array; and often he taunted the old nobles with their cruelty and avarice, and often cried exultantly: “Ethion, now thy vengeance is won!”
Suddenly, as he thus rode a voice called him: “Ethion! Ethion!” There was something in the words that startled him; though he had pronounced that name himself, he had not heard from another’s mouth for well-nigh forty years. He reined in his horse, and cried gruffly, for much of his courage had departed and not returned: “Who calls on Ethion?”
“It is I; it is they Callia, she whom thou did once so love,” answered the same voice, which he now recognized to be that of an old woman who, overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, half sat, half reclined by the roadside with her back propped up by a large stone.
“Thou liest! it is not Callia whom I left so young and fair,” cried he, yet at the same time getting from his horse and approaching the old woman. He felt his heart sank within him, yet why, he knew not. Had he not given Callia up to vengeance when she was beautiful? had he not cast her image from his memory for countless years. Then what cared he for that shriveled hag, even had she once been his destined bride, even were she the only being yet in existence whom he had once loved with his whole soul? As Evigius approached he noticed on or forehead a large saber-cut of recent date, the blood from which stained her cheek and covered her garments.
“Ethion,” she said slowly, and her words were the words of one whose life was fast ebbing away, “Ethion, I have waited long for thee, and I thank thee that thou comest at last.”
“Callia is it thou?” asked the old man, when she stopped for breath. “Many a messenger I sent for thee, but they brought me back no word except that thou wert dead.” “
“Ethion,” said the woman again in her passionless, deathlike way, unmindful of his words, “Ethion, hast thou avenged thy father?”
“Look but around thee and behold how full is my vengeance!” replied the traitor fiercely.
“False Ethion!” said the same calm voice, “thou hast sought vengeance for thyself not for my father. Thou wert false to my love, for thou badest me wait while thou didst go to avenge thy father; but is he now avenged? does he rest easier in his grave now? False Ethion! thou hast revenged thyself alone; but,” she added while the shadow of death darkened her face, “thy vengeance is complete.”
Evigius left the lifeless form and mounted his steed. He dashed wildly on, hither and thither, onward, onward, madly, distractedly, unconscious of his movements, so raged the conflict within him. All his acts, his wicked, wretched career stood plain before him; his vengeance which affected not his father, which he had pursued for his own gratification; his deeds of bloodshed; the dying Callia, his last greatest victim. Now the ignominy which must await his old age among men, now the miserable life he must lead until his death, now remorse, and deep, black despair glared hideously in his face. On, on he plunged madly, madly; the strife within, the stings of conscience goaded him forward, that he pressed the rowels in his horse’s side, striving to fly from himself. Suddenly the jaded animal stumbled in its headlong course, and sank on its knees, throwing its master hard on the rough road. Evigius fell, and never rose again. His neck was broken, and he lay there dead.
The next day the survivors of the ruin of Rhodium marched along that same road. The Moslem advance-guard first recognized the traitor’s body; with fierce shouts they rode their horses over it. The crowd behind readily followed that almost forgot their sorrows in trampling on the carcass until it could no more be known as Evigius; no more be known as aught human; no more be known as he who brought destruction on Rhodium.
Page 18, Entry 12 (Newspaper clipping).
No date.
written for the Elizabeth Unionist.
ST. ROSALINE’S WELL.
A Ballad of Ancient Days.
By Frances.
Robert of Scots rode through the land,
Gay courtiers swelled his train;
To cities fair and castles gray
They went o’er mount and plain.
To St. Rosaline’s Well they came at length,
Where they did straightaway see
Three score of vassals richly decked,
And at their head a fair lady.
“Who art thou lady,” cried the king,
“Mid this good train so bright?”
“I was Earl Harold’s promised bride,
Edith of Elton hight.”
“Three years gone by, hard on my frame
Was laid dread palsy’s hand;
Earl Harold false turned him away
And sped to Holy Land.
“In my castle’s walls then I shut me up,
None thought more of me then;
I brooded alone o’er my fortune lost;
I sighed in my lonely glen.”
“One morn to my bower a minstrel came;
My bower in the hazel dell;
And he sang to me of sleeping love,
And he sang of St. Rosaline’s Well.”
“Then by the holy rood I swore,
Since that minstrel alone was true,
He only might have my once proud hand:
Should St. Rosaline my form renew.”
“Then hither I came, in the water I bathed,
And every disease hath fled;
The minstrel has come with heart ever true,
Him only will I wed.”
“Take back my plight!” outspoke the king,
“A royal crown shalt thou have.”
Never was it of fair Elton said,
“Consent to perjury she gave.”
“The priest stands ready, the minstrel too;
My hand is only his,
Come life or death, tide weal or woe;
I seal it with my kiss.”
She turned and looked on the minstrel’s
brow—
Earl Harold’s form was there.
Shrieking she fell on the hard, cold earth,
And lifeless lay she there.
Earl Harold took her in his arms
And long his fate bewailed;
“For thee,” he cried, “Edith! For thee,
“To Palestine I sailed.”
“My spurs hard-earned, brightly fame
Were sought for thee alone;
Then must I now return to find
That thou, my joy, art gone!”
Earl Harold watched by fair Edith’s side
Full many a trying hour;
And she lived at last, and welcomed back
Her true night to her bower.
Elizabeth, Sept. 10th, 1860.
Pages 18-19, Entry 13 (Newspaper clipping).
Irish-American
March 3, 1861.
ST. JOHN’S COLLEGE, FORDHAM.
SEMI-ANNUAL DEBATE.
The debating society of St. John’s College some time since made known their intention of appearing in public, and, accordingly, a large crowd was found at Fordham, on Thursday, the 28th ult., eager to enjoy the promised intellectual treat. The number of visitors much exceeded the usual limits; not only was the hall in which the exercises were held, duly filled, but even the adjoining portico was pressed into service, thereby demonstrating either an increase of relatives on the part of the students, or reputation on the part of the College.
Among the foremost of the audience were their two Graces, the Papal Nuncio, late of Mexico, and the Archbishop of New York; the Very Rev. William Starrs, together with a numerous array of the clergy of New York; also Dr. Phillips, of Brooklyn: Mr. Mullally and others.
Before entering upon the debate, the President of the College, the Rev. Auguste Thebaud, stood forward and informed the assembly of the presence of the Nuncio—a proceeding rendered necessary, as his Excellency being a little man, and seated in a high backed chair, was visible only to those upon the stage.
The College Choir then began to discourse sweet music, after which the Chairman, Mr. F. J. Holahan, of Brooklyn, arose and opened the subject—“Is the Centralization of Power the best National Policy?” He passed in rapid review the great empires which the world has looked upon, recalling their rise, their progress, their downfall. He showed that none had been able to grapple with all emergencies, that none could surmount all obstacles; and he asked, where had been the defect in their systems? What policy does their example lead as to declare the best?
Mr. John J. Lynch of New York took the ground that in consolidation alone can they be found strength, that unity alone raises up governments and gives them permanency. History offered him numerous examples to establish his views—Augustus, Constantine, Charlemagne; England, the United States; while against his opponents he brought Italy—a geographical name –the fall of Ireland and other lands. He especially referred to France under Louis XIV, who raised that kingdom to its greatest prosperity and happiness.
The first speaker on the negative, Mr. Numa Samory, of New Orleans, claimed that the great and beneficial changes which had been shown to have taken place in society, were due, not to centralization, but to the Catholic Church, to the invention of gun-powder which gave strength to the weak, and to printing. Examining the reign of Louis XIV, he found that its affects were prejudicial to the rights and liberties of the people, and that it really brought on the first French Revolution. He then recalled the reigns of several monarchs who had centralized in themselves the power of the State. Napoleon, whose ambition depopulated Europe; Henry VIII., who robbed his subjects of their privileges and rights, and threw England into disorder; Cromwell, who flung aside the Constitution—the guarantee of English liberty; and, lastly, the tyrants of the French Convention, who brought such misery on entire France. He concluded by drawing the difference between a centralized power and a free government like our own.
No way daunted, however, by these arguments, the second gentleman of the affirmative, Mr. Auguste Larue, of Three Rivers, Ca., advanced to the support of his comrade. If the reign of Henry VIII was unfortunate, he said, it was not going to centralization, but to the corruptness of his heart. He showed the salutary effects of centralization under Ferdinand and Isabella, how the invader was banished from Spain, how she rose from obscurity. He represented, likewise, the evils arising in this country at the present moment from the want of a centralized power, and the good which Cromwell caused by centralizing the power of the English nation. Finally, he referred to the centralization of power which is to be found in the Catholic Church—the model of all governments.
The last speaker, Mr. J. J. Carberry, of this city, began by explaining how centralization through the passion and caprice which share so largely in it, is ever open to abuse the freedom natural to all men. Centralization, he contended, contains merely a physical unity, not a moral unity, which is so necessary, hence the decline of Austria, of Ireland; while England, which possessed the moral unity, met with success. The United States furnished him with another example of moral unity; for here the people are united, and so strongly that only despotism can break the ties binding them together. Another tendency of centralization, he proved to be the allying of the spiritual, moral and material under its authority—an action which is at once seen to be outrageous. Finally, pointing to the Church, he showed that she was not centralized since great power is given to the bishops independently in their respective dioceses. Mr. Carberry’s arguments were well put, and elicited merited applause.
When this speech had been delivered, the Chairman proceeded to a careful review of the arguments of either side. Governments, he said, are indeed mutable; but it is allowed that free governments tend most to the ends of government, they make men. The tendency, moreover of a centralized government is strong towards despotism. Again, centralization is not to be accepted, because in that case the people do not share in the government, as they should considering the interest which they do, or ought to take in its welfare. Still he would not do away with all centralization, because systems of government depend upon the disposition of the nation, and some may be more benefited by another than a liberal policy. Viewing the question, however, and its general bearing, he felt justified in giving his decision in favor of the negative —“Centralization of power is not the best national policy.”
The debate being ended, the College musicians again poured forth strains of charming music, as, indeed, they had not failed to do during the intervals between the various speeches.
Archbishop Hughes, at the request of the President of the College, at length arose and addressed the debaters. He said that one thing must’ve been noticed by the speakers—viz., that freedom is fully possessed only by the savage in his normal state, remote from all. He likewise considered the debate, both as to the subject and its consideration, fully superior to the highest standard of debates at which he had been present in former years. Nor did he fail to give just praise and merit to the delivery and eloquence of the various speakers; nor in fine did he omit a good word for the music, both vocal and instrumental.
Pages 19-20, Entry 14 (Handwritten) .
REMARKS.
It will be evident to all intelligent persons that the Editor and publisher of these few sheets, may have intended to say a few words at their close, by way of preface, perhaps, or of peroration. Such an idea may not be ill-founded; but all prefaces and perorations are prefaced or appended to books, etc. in order to explain what is therein contained, thus assisting the reader who might not otherwise find himself able to preserve the Author’s train of argument. Now the Author of this little book thinks that such being the end or aim of prefaces etc. they need have no place here, because there is no necessity for them, and also an impossibility of having them. For, in the first place, we do not expect anybody ever to peruse this book whether or we should or should not aid him by giving him the train of our argument. And, in the second place, we are growing old and forgetful, in so much as we are constrained to acknowledge that we do not ourselves at present see any train or thread of argument in this work, however clearly we saw it in former times when we wrote each piece singly, for we have not since re-read the whole.
Finis
Volume One.
Volume II., of the Works of Edward P. Brownson A.B. will shortly be published, being the Sequel of the present Work.
