Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science - Volume 12, No. 28, July, 1873

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• Publié par: showyong
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 23
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. XII, No. 28. July, 1873., by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. XII, No. 28. July, 1873. Author: Various Release Date: January 14, 2005 [EBook #14691] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE *** Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Patricia Bennett and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team. LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE OF POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. JULY, 1873. Vol XII, No. 28. TABLE OF CONTENTS ILLUSTRATIONS. THE NEW HYPERION [Illustrated] By EDWARD STRAHAN. I.--Preambulary. (9) FROM PHILADELPHIA TO BALTIMORE [Illustrated] By ROBERT MORRIS COPELAND. (20) CHARITY CROSS By MARGARET MASON. (32) BERRYTOWN by REBECCA HARDING DAVIS. CHAPTER XI. (35) CHAPTER XII. (37) CHAPTER XIII. (41) CHAPTER XIV. (43) CHAPTER XV. (47) STRANGE SEA INDUSTRIES AND ADVENTURES By WILL WALLACE HARNEY. (49) POSEY'S NUGGET By LOUIS A. ROBERTS. (59) FRANCESCA'S WORSHIP By MARGARET J. PRESTON. (69) OUR HOME IN THE TYROL By MARGARET HOWITT. CHAPTER V. (71) CHAPTER VI. (78) WITH THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE CORPS AT PARIS By RALPH KEELER. (84) THE HUMMING-BIRD By JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON. (93) A PRINCESS OF THULE By WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER X.—Fairy-land. (94) CHAPTER XI.—The First Plunge. (105) SOME PASSAGES IN SHELLEY'S EARLY HISTORY By JANUARY SEARLE. (113) CHANGES By EMMA LAZARUS. (116) OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. A Sleeping-car Serenade By W.G.B. (117) Fables For The Youth By SARSFIELD YOUNG. (120) A Picture With A History. (121) Hints For Novel-Writers. (123) NOTES. (124) LITERATURE OF THE DAY. (126) Books Received. (128) ILLUSTRATIONS View of the Schuylkill River and West Philadelphia. Sharon Hill. Glenolden. Ridley Park. Crum Lynne Falls. Distant View of Landscape, Showing Military Institute At Chester. Crozer Seminary. View of Chester. Residence of Mr. F.O.C. Darley. View of Delaware River Near Claymont. View at Claymont: Creek and Bridge. Principio. Bridge over the Susquehanna at Havre de Grace. Mount Ararat—profile Rock. Port Deposit. Fort McHenry. The British Shell. [pg 9] THE NEW HYPERION. FROM PARIS TO MARLY BY WAY OF THE RHINE. [The author's vignettes neatly copied by Gusatave Doré.] I.—PREAMBULARY. The behavior of a great Hope is like the setting of the sun. It splashes out from under a horizontal cloud, so diabolically incandescent that you see a dozen false suns blotting the heavens with purple in every direction. You bury your eyes in a handkerchief, with your back carefully turned upon the west, and meantime the spectacle you were waiting for takes place and disappears. You promise yourself to nick it better to-morrow. The soul withdraws into its depths. The stars arise (offering two or three thousand more impracticable suns), and the night is ironical. [pg 10] Having already conquered, without boasting, a certain success before the reading public, and having persuaded an author of renown to sign his name to my bantling, my Expectation and Hope have long been to surpass that trifling production. You may think it a slight thing to prepare a lucky volume, and, tapping Fame familiarly on the shoulder, engage her to undertake its colportage throughout the different countries of the globe. My first little work of travel and geography had exceeded my dreams of a good reception. It had earned me several proposals from publishers; it had been annotated with "How true!" and "Most profound!" by the readers in public libraries; its title had given an imaginative air to the ledgers of book-sellers; and it had added a new shade of moodiness to the collection of Mudie. The man who hits one success by accident is always trying to hit another by preparation. Since that achievement I have thought of nothing but the creation of another impromptu, and I have really prepared a quantity of increments toward it in the various places to which my traveling existence has led me. That I have settled down, since these many years past, at the centre and capital of ideas would prove me, even without the indiscretions of that first little book, an American by birth. I need not add that my card is printed in German text, Paul Fleming, and that time has brought to me a not ungraceful, though a sometimes practically retardating, circumference. Beneath a mask of cheerfulness, and even of obesity, however, I continue to guard the sensitive feelings of my earlier days. Yes: under this abnormal convexity are fostered, as behind a lens, the glowing tendencies of my youth. Though no longer, like the Harold described in Icelandic verse by Regner Hairy-Breeches, "a young chief proud of my flowing locks," yet I still "spend my mornings among the young maidens," or such of them as frequent the American Colony, as we call it, in Paris. I still "love to converse with the handsome widows." Miss Ashburton, who in one little passage of our youth treated me with considerable disrespect, and who afterward married a person of great lingual accomplishments, her father's late courier, at Naples, has been handsomely forgiven, but not forgotten. A few intelligent ladies, of marked listening powers and conspicuous accomplishments, are habitually met by me at their residences in the neighborhood of the Arc de Triomphe or at the receptions of the United States minister. These fair attractions, although occupying, in practice, a preponderating share of my time, are as nothing to me, however, in comparison with that enticing illusion, my Book. [pg 11] The scientific use of the imagination in treating the places and distances of Geography is the dream of my days and the insomnia of my nights. Every morning I take down and dust the loose sheets of my coming book or polish the gilding of my former one. It is in my fidelity to these baffling hopes—hopes fed with so many withered (or at least torn and blotted) leaves—rather than in any resemblance authenticable by a looking-glass, that I show my identity with the old long-haired and nasal Flemming. Yet, though so long a Parisian, and so comfortable in my theoretic pursuit of Progressive Geography, my leisure hours are unconsciously given to knitting myself again to past associations, and some of my deepest pleasures come from tearing open the ancient wounds. Shall memory ever lose that sacred, that provoking day in the Vale of Lauterbrunnen when the young mechanic in green serenaded us with his guitar? It had for me that quite peculiar and personal application that it immediately preceded my rejection by Miss Mary. The Staubbach poured before our eyes, as from a hopper in the clouds, its Stream of Dust. The Ashburtons, clad in the sensible and becoming fashion of English lady-tourists, with long ringlets and Leghorn hats, sat on either side of me upon the grass. And then that implacable youth, looking full in my eye, sang his verses of insulting sagacity: She gives thee a garland woven fair; Take care! It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear; Beware! beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! Meeting him two or three times afterward as he pursued his apprentice-tour, I felt as though I had encountered a green-worm. And I confess that it was partly on his account that I made a vow, fervently uttered and solemnly kept, never again to visit Switzerland or the Rhine. Miss Ashburton I easily forgave. The disadvantage, I distinctly felt, was hers, solely and restrictedly hers; and I should have treated with profound respect, if I had come across him, the professional traveler who was good enough to marry her afterward. But these bitter-sweet recollections are only the relief to my studies. It is true they are importunate, but they are strictly kept below stairs. Nor would any one, regarding the stout and comfortable Flemming, suspect what regrets and what philosophies were disputing possession of his interior. For my external arrangements, I flatter myself that I have shaped them in tolerable taste. My choice of the French capital I need not defend to any of my American readers. To all of you this consummation is simply a matter of ability. I heartily despise, as I always did, all mere pamperings of physical convenience. Still, for some who retain some sympathy with the Paul Flemming of aforetime, it may be worth while to mention the particular physical conveniencies my soul contemns. I inhabit, and have done so for eight years at least, a neat little residence of the kind styled "between court and garden," and lying on the utmost permissible circumference of the American quarter in Paris—say on the hither side of Passy. For nearly the same period I have had in lease a comical box at Marly, whither I repair every summer. My town-quarters, having been furnished by an artist, gave me small pains. The whole interior is like a suite of rooms in the Hôtel Cluny. The only trouble was in bringing up the cellar to the quality I desired and in selecting domestics —points on which, though careless of worldly comfort in general, I own I am somewhat particular. [pg 12] No gentleman valets for me—rude creatures presuming to outdress their masters. What I wanted was the Corporal Trim style of thing—bald, faithful, ancient retainer. After a world of vexation I succeeded in finding an artless couple, who agreed for a stipulation to sigh when I spoke of my grandfather before my guests, and to have been brought up in the family. [pg 13] But I am wandering, and neglecting the true vein of sentiment which so abounds in my heart. All my pleasure is still in mournful contemplation, but I have learned that the feelings are most refined when freed from low cares and pe