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May 4, 1850.] Wffe &* fell It* 1:J41
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THE LORELEI. FROM THB GERMAN OF VOT« SAL...
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THE TALENT FOR SILENCE. I am not an orat...
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Transcript
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
The Apprenticeship Of Life. By G. H. Lew...
" It will not , " he replied j " for I shall not last long ! There was something" slightly theatrical in his tone and gesture as he said this , which suggested a doubt in her mind whether his passion really were as deep as he believed it . Herein she forgot the tendency there is in human nature to dramatize its passions ; a tendency which gives even to serious affl ictions an air of something not thoroughly real . Ah ! we are often comedians without knowing it !
" Armand , " she said , " we have both been foolish . te you love me ? " he impetuously asked . < e I do not ! " she exclaimed , with sudden energy . That phrase was sublime ! In that phrase a loving heart concentrated the very intensity of its unselfishness , and blasphemed its love to avert a pdril by a bold denial from the head of the beloved .
Was it not kind to be thus cruel—to deny the love she felt ? Was it riot better to stifle his young affection at once , than to throw upon his li fe the burden of a passion such as hers ? With such a difference in their ages was not love madness ? These were the thoughts which made her deny her love . Armand , of course , knew nothing of what was passing in her mind ; he only knew that she rejected him ; arid , dreading lest he should not have sufficient selfcommand , he hurried from the room .
Left to herself , the prudence of her refusal , though it became more evident , was greatl y shaken by the consciousness that without Armand life to her would be a burden * It was a painful dilemma . With love on the one side prompting her to accept his hand , goading her to realize a few months of happiness ; and on the other , fear and reason plainly telling her that such disproportioned matches could not end happily . Armand had left her in anger ; but was returning once more to plead his cause , when her agonized sobs smote on his ear : they told him his passion was returned !
She sprang up at his approach , and the hair which had escaped from its fastenings drooped over her shoulders in exquisite disorder ; the flowers which had decked i t were at her feet , or crushed upon the sofa—a touching symbol of the feelings she had trampled on . " Hortense I" he said in a tone which thri ll ed her , " You do love me , do you not ?" " I do ! " she murmured , as she drooped her head upon his bosom . " , will you understand the force of my reasons , reasons which make me deny an affection I have struggled against , because I know its danger ? For your sake I struggled with it , for your sake I refuse the happiness offered me . "
She reasoned with him eloquently , and tried , though vainly , to make him accept the verdict of universal experience which proved the instability of affection , and the certainty of his one day repenting the step . He would not listen to her reasons . The idea of his one day growing tired of her , he rejected as an outrage . " Say that your worst forebodings should come true , " he continued . ff What then ? Have we not some years of intense happiness before that can arrive ? Are you unwilling to run that risk ? As for me I would barter my whole life for one year of love . I would willingly consent to l ay it down in exchange for one year crowded with life and love . Would you not do the same ?" " But the future ?"
" Will you not exchange certain happiness for an uncertain cessation of it ? As well refuse to live , because a few years w ill bring us to the tomb ! What is this future , that we should tremble at our own ignoble fears ? Is the future anything more than a prolongation of the present ? The way to act for the future is to act bravely , that is rightly , for the present . We must not do a wrong to-day with a view of right to-morrow . To act rightly now is the fittest preparation for acting rightly then . People talk of the future and its perils as if they came upon us in a mass—as if the future were something distinct from the present . Yet in truth it is but a swift succession of present moments : it arrives towards us like a stream , each wave bringing its own perils , its own emergencies , and calling forth the fitting energies . "
" But , " said Hortense , " we must not disregard the future . " " Nor over estimate it , " he replied . " Plan and scheme as we may we cannot assure ourselves of the to be . We are only certain of the present , and that certainty suffices . We walk through life with but a feeble lantern in our hands , the light of which enables us to see a few yards in advance : the rest is darkness ! Yet if we keep our lantern trimmed , and walk resolutely , we shall reach our iourney ' s end in safety . But if we strive to penetrate the be distorted into
distant darkness with this small glimmer , objects will fantastic shapes , and we shall lose our path because we would not trust to it . The goal , though many miles distant , must be reached by single steps , not at one bound . The future alarms you ? How often does an object seen in the haze of distance appal us , which is found to be harmless when we approach it ! There is but one rule of life I acknowledge , and that is To tread in the path I believe to be right and let it lead me whither it may . We love and we must marry : that is the right for us now j let it issue as it may , that path will I follow . "
This was but too consonant with her desires not to win her conviction , and before the evening closed she had consented to brave the perils of the future and to be his wife ! ( To be continued , ')
May 4, 1850.] Wffe &* Fell It* 1:J41
May 4 , 1850 . ] Wffe &* fell It * 1 : J 41
The Lorelei. From Thb German Of Vot« Sal...
THE LORELEI . FROM THB GERMAN OF VOT « SALttlT , BY WAMBB' K . XBLZ . Y . [ The supernatural bein * that gives name to this little poem i * a sort of freshwater syren , differing in little else than habitat ft oin her Greek prototype , ] A lightsome , potent fay On the dusky rock sits high ; And sweet are the lips and the liquid \ ttf Of the beautiful Lorelei . She sings , ttiat all may hear ; But the strain not many heed . ' " ' tie ! 'tis a cheat , boy ; give it no ear !" So runs gray caution ' s rede . '" The crews , as they cleave the Wave , Full fast by the haunted rock ; Their only care is how to save Their craft from the shivering shock . Deaf ears , cold hearts , and rude Have they for that sweet strain ; And they reckon , forsooth , in their sullen mood Delight foregone as gain . They pause not , hearken not To the voice from the charmed shore ; Pull drudgery is their ceaseless lot , Wearily bent to the oar . But he , in whose kindling breast The currents of life run strong , Bight gladly surrenders himself , possest By the lofty power of Song . He drops the oar ; not a thought He gives to his fate , altho ' His boat , in the whirling eddies caught , Goes fathoms deep below . Soft now his rest , where never Life ' s jarring sounds intrude , To scare the sweet dreams that lull him ever In that crystal solitude . There by the Lorelei ' s song His dreaming ear is thrilled , And his raptured sense with a wild sweet throng Of fairy joys is filled . I , too , in those waters drowned , Their hallowed depths love well , In a trance of delight for ever bound By the charmer ' s warbled spell .
The Talent For Silence. I Am Not An Orat...
THE TALENT FOR SILENCE . I am not an orator myself , and am really " unaccustomed to public speaking , " so that I heartily agree with one half of Carlyle ' s Stump Orator . A talent for silence is , after all , a rare and great thing . I have it to perfection . Carlyle himself is not more silent in society than I am ! Friends of old standing w ill die without having heard the sound of my voice ! Indeed , I can say with " Bayes" in The Rehearsal , " My acquaintances , I hear , begin to give it out that I am dull ; now I am the farthest thing in the world from it , egad ; but only , forsooth , they think t am so because I can say nothing ! " That is my case : a natural continence of speech has been fostered in me by a remark I once read in that respectable old gentleman Goethe : — " Wcr schweiet hat wenitf z « eorgen
Der Mensch bleibt unter der Zunge verborgen , which I will thus translate for the benefit of By the way , for whose benefit does one translate now-a-days ? Formerly it was for " country gentlemen ; " but now that red-faced , vinous-voiced , supremely stupid race has departed , and its talk is no longer of oxen ; your " country gentleman " is one who has scoured Europe , and knows all languages—even his own . As to the ladies , it is quite a farce to translate for them ; they are better linguists than , we are . In short , the only people who do not know European languages seem to me the translators I For the benefit , therefore , of translators from the German , ! give this version , which they may take my word for it is better than the original : — " He who is silent can't go wrong-:
The man ' s lapped over by his tongue . This excellent remark clenched my propensity ; I was continent before ; I have since been dumb . Like Petrarch ' s mistress , my silence is my eloquence : parlo con silenzio . Although , therefore , I agree with my silent and reserved friend , Thomas Carlyle , on the inanity of speech , and the absurdity of rewarding Talkers as we do ; I must protest against his inclusion of Writers in the same sweeping anathema . This will never do . The pen is the natural orator . Man is the only animal that writes . The pen is a , puissance . The
pen moves the world . But I grieve to say the pen is not appreciated : the rate per sheet is rapidly diminishing , and all those babies that are fed with a quill are clamorous for more food . But , no ! the orator carries everything before him in this shallow , frothy age ; whereas the man with a talent for silence and pointed pen meets with slight reward . Is not this dismal ? Is not this a symptom of our social disease ? Can that be a right state of things wherein a man with remarkable talent for silence has only one shirt to his back—and that a calico ? If , as Carlyle says , silence is the grand virtue of a man , why is it not rewarded in shirts ? Vivian .
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Citation
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Leader (1850-1860), May 4, 1850, page 21, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_04051850/page/21/
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