home; and the host, in his general beneficence, had engaged the Man in the Moon, with an immense horn lantern, to be the guide of such desolate spinsters as could do no better for themselves. But a blast of the rising tempest blew out all their lights in the twinkling of an eye. How, in the darkness that ensued, the guests contrived to get back to earth, or whether the greater part of them contrived to get back at all, or are still wandering among clouds, mists, and puffs of tempestuous wind, bruised by the beams and rafters of the overthrown castle in the air, and deluded by all sorts of unrealities, are points that concern themselves, much more than the writer or the public. People should think of these matters, before they trust themselves on a pleasure-party into the realm of Nowhere. EGERIA. BY HENRY T. TUCKERMAN. Not yet, not yet, can I for thee awake a moving strain, To weave the minstrel's careless rhyme would be a task of pain, But when the fount within thy breast, now sealed in deep repose, When from the lightsome word you turn, and gazing through a tear, When hallowed grows thy constant thought before affection's shrine, BLIND JACQUES. BY MRS. E. F. ELLET. An admirer of M. Eugene Sue, in a letter addressed to him in the Journal des Débats, expresses himself profoundly affected by the picture of the Maître d'Ecole, in the Mysteries of Paris. But, he adds, "another image shapes itself before me-a living personage whom I have seen an image which contrasts with yours in such a manner as to complete your idea. He is blind, like the Maître d'Ecole; of the common class, and in the possession of all his strength and faculties, in the midst of his misfortune; yet he finds a support where the other finds an abyss; the same loss elevates him which sinks the other to nothing. Every step of the Maître d'Ecole plunges him deeper into bondage and despair; for my hero, every moment that passes is a link fallen from his chain, a shadow chased from his soul. In a word, the one still seeks good; the other, evil: the one loves; the other hates." The sketch, simple, and drawn from actual life, has in our eyes a touching and beautiful moral. Perhaps something of its force may be preserved in a translation. E. F. E. About a year since, in the month of December, two men, one young, the other on the verge of old age, were walking along a stony road in one of the villages in the neighborhood of Paris. Coming towards them, and climbing the rough ascent, was a man harnessed to a sort of dray laden with a cask; he held his head down, and beside him walked a little girl of eight years old, holding by the end of the dray. Suddenly one wheel rolled upon an enormous stone, and the dray was nearly overturned on the side next the little girl. "He is drunk!" cried the young man, rushing towards them; but when he looked into the man's, face, he turned back quickly towards his old companion, and said, "He is blind!" The other motioned him to be silent, came up, and, without a word, laid his hand on that of the drayman, while the little girl smiled roguishly. The blind observe how, step by step, the victim climbs out of the abyss, and renews his life; how a crushed heart gradually recovers its vigor, and the helpless man finds he has yet a place in the world." The friends had arrived at the house of M. Desgranges, when he commenced the story: "One morning, three years ago, I was walking across the extensive dry plain that separates our village from that of Noisemont, and is partly covered with blasted rocks. I heard a violent explosion; I looked, and at the distance of four or five hundred paces saw a whitish smoke that seemed to rise from a cavity in the ground. Fragments of the rock at the same time were thrown into the air; a moment after, I heard dreadful cries, and a man sprang out of the cavity, and ran across the field like one insane, flinging his arms wildly about, uttering cries of pain, and stumbling almost at every step. His face, as well as I could perceive at a distance, and amidst his rapid movements, seemed covered by a large red mask. I hastened towards him, while from the direction of Noisemont came running men and women, with screams of terror. I was the first to reach the unhappy man; and saw with horror that his whole head was one frightful wound. His skull was laid bare; the skin was torn from his forehead and part of his face; and the blood streamed in torrents from his torn garments. As I took hold of his arm, a woman ran towards him, followed by twenty peasants, exclaiming, 'Jacques, Jacques! is it thou? I know thee not, Jacques!' The unfortunate man answered not, but struggled to escape from our hands, and as he did so, scattered the blood in every direction. 'Ah! ah!' cried the woman, in a voice of heart-rending anguish, 'it is he!' She had recognized him by a large silver pin that fastened his shirt. "It was indeed her husband, the father of three children, a poor miner, who, in blasting a rock, had received the whole explosion in his face, and was blinded, mutilated, perhaps mortally wounded. "He was carried home. I was obliged the same day to leave for a month's absence; but I sent him our doctor; a man who united the scientific knowledge of the city practitioners to the kindness of a country physician. On my return, when I asked him how was the blind man, he answered: 'He is lost. His wounds are healed; his head is uninjured; only his sight is gone; but he will not live. Despair will kill him. "I shall never see again!” is all he says continually. I fear that an internal inflammation has already begun.' "I hastened to the invalid; I shall never forget the sight that presented itself. He was seated on a wooden stool beside the chimney, in which there was no fire, a white handkerchief bound over his eyes; on the ground was lying, asleep, an infant three months old; a little girl, four years of age, was playing in the ashes; another, a little older, was shivering in the opposite corner; and at the other side of the room, his wife was seated on the bed, pale, emaciated, her arms hanging down. There was more of misery in this scene than met the eye. The conviction struck on my heart, that perhaps for hours not a word had been uttered in this abode of despair. The wife sat listless, and seemed no longer to care for anything in the world. They were not merely unhappy; they had lost all hope. At the sound of my footsteps, as I entered, both rose, but without speaking. "You are the blind man of the quarry?' I asked. "Yes! Monsieur.' ""I have come to see you.' "You have suffered a great misfortune.' "Yes! Monsieur.' "His voice was cold, and betrayed no emotion. He answered mechanically. He expected nothing from any one in the world. I said something of public sympathy, and of aid to be extended. "Aid!' exclaimed the woman, in a kind of desperation; they owe us aid, indeed! We ought to be relieved, for we have done nothing to deserve such a stroke as this! My children must not be suffered to die of hunger!' "She asked no charity; she claimed succor as a right. This imperious appeal touched me more forcibly than any lamentations she could have employed; and I emptied into my hand some pieces of silver from my purse; but her husband answered, in a tone of sullen despair, 'Let them die, the children, since I am never to see again! There is a singular power in the tones of the human voice. I dropped my money again into my purse; I was ashamed to offer this chance aid; I felt that it was necessary to give more than a mere alms; that money could not restore contentment to that hearth. I returned home with my resolution fixed." "But what could you do for them ?" asked his young friend. "What could I do?" replied M. Desgranges; "what could I do? Fifteen days after that interview, Jacques was saved; in a year he was in a way of earning his own support; and now he sings at his work." "But how was this done?” "How? By a means very natural: by but stay, I think I hear him coming; yes, it is he. I will leave him to tell you himself his simple history. It will touch you more from his lips; it will embarrass me less, and his earnest and cordial manner will complete the effect of the narration." A noise was heard without, of some one drawing off his sabots at the door, and presently a light knock was heard. "Come in, Jacques." He entered with his wife. "I have brought Julienne this time, dear M. Desgranges; the poor woman is so happy to see you again for a little while." "It is very well, Jacques: sit down." He advanced, feeling before him with his stick, so that he should not run against any of the chairs, and having found one, seated himself. He was young, and of a slight figure, but strongly made. His dark hair curled over an open and expansive forehead. His features were prepossessing, and animated by a cheerful expression, particularly when he showed his white teeth in smiling. His wife remained standing just behind him. "Jacques," said M. Desgranges ; "here is one of my good friends who wished much to see you." 19 "He is an excellent person since he is your friend." "You must talk with him while I go to see my geraniums; but you must not be sad; remember, I have forbidden that." No, no! my dear friend !" This expression of affection struck the young man; and, after his friend had gone out, he approached the blind visiter. "You love M. Desgranges?" "Do I love him?" repeated the blind man, impetuously. "Monsieur ! he saved me from hell! I was lost; my children had no bread; I was dying of despair; he saved me!" "He gave you money ?" Money! what is that? Everybody gives money! Yes! he nourished and clothed us; he made a collection of five hundred francs. But all that is nothing. It is he who healed my heart!" "And how ?" 66 By his good words, Monsieur! Yes! he, a person so excellent and honorable, he came every day to my poor hovel; he sat down on my bench and talked with me, for an hour,. two hours, that he might make me happy.” "What did he say to you?" "I cannot tell; I am but a stupid fellow; and you must ask him to repeat what he said; but it was all about things I had never heard of before. fore. He spoke to me of the good God better than a priest. It was he who taught me how to sleep again!" "How was that?" “I had not had a night's sleep for two months, for whenever I began to doze, I would awake, saying to myself, 'Jacques, thou art blind!' and then my head would whirl and whirl like a madman's; and that was killing me. One morning he came in-that dear friendand said to me: Jacques, do you believe in God? Well, to-night, when you strive in vain to sleep, and the idea of your misfortune takes hold of your mind, repeat a prayer aloud, then two, or three, and you shall see that you will go to sleep. "Yes!" said his wife, with her calm voice; "the good God then gave him sleep. "That is not all, Monsieur! I was going to kill myself! I said, ‘Jacques, thou art useless to thy family; thou art a burden; a sick woman in the house!' But he said, 'Is it not you who still support your family? Had you not been blind, would any one have given them five hundred francs ?' "That is true, M. Desgranges.' "True, Monsieur, it is true!' "Observe, Jacques, every family has to bear some misfortune. Disaster is like the rain; something of it must fall on every head. If you were not blind, your wife would, perhaps, be an invalid, or you would lose one of your children; in place of that, it is you, my poor friend, who have all the suffering; they are spared.' "True, true!' and I began to feel less depressed; I felt happy to suffer for them. Afterwards he said, 'My dear Jacques, misfortune is man's greatest enemy or his best friend. There are persons whom it renders wicked; there are others whom it makes better. I wish it would cause you to love everybody; to be so kind, so grateful, so affectionate, that when people are talking of the good, they may say, "As good as the poor blind man of Noisemont. That will serve as a portion to your daughter.' "'Thus he gave me courage to be unhappy." "Yes! but when he was not with you?" "Ah! when he was not there, I had, indeed, very gloomy moments; I thought of my eyes, and of the blessing of sight. Ah!" Jacques continued mournfully, "if God should permit me ever to see again, I would never lose a moment of the precious daylight!" "Jacques, Jacques!" said his wife. "You are right, Julienne! He has forbidden me to be sorrowful. He always observed it, Monsieur. Would you believe, whenever my head has been bad during the night, and he comes in the morning, at the first glance he always says, 'Jacques, you have been thinking of that; and then he scolds me, that dear friend that he is." Yes," added the blind man, with a smile," and I like to hear him, for he cannot speak harshly even if he would." "And how came you to think of making yourself a water-carrier ?" "It was he who thought of it. How should I have any ideas? I was cured of my great distress, but I began to be weary of myself. Only thirtytwo years old, and to sit all day upon a bench! Then he undertook to instruct me, and told me a great many Bible histories; the history of Joseph, of David, and many others; which he made me repeat after him. But my head was hard, for it had not been used to learn; and I grew every day more weary of my arms and legs.' "And he tormented us all like a loup garou," said his wife, laughing. "All true;" answered the husband, also laughing. "I became wicked. Then he came to me, and said, 'Jacques, I must put you to work.' I showed him my poor burned hands. 'I know it; I have bought you a stock in trade.' 'Me! Monsieur Desgranges?' Yes, Jacques, a stock where you need deposit nothing, and yet you will always find merchandise.' 'It has cost you much, Monsieur !' 'Nothing at all, mon garçon.' 'Where is it?' In the river." The river! Will you have me turn fisherman? C No, you shall carry water. Carry water? but my eyes! 'What do you want with them?' said he. 'Have the brewers' horses any? When one has them, they do service; when one has them not, one must do without them. Allons, you shall be a water-carrier.' 'But a cask?' 'I will provide one for you.' 'But a dray?' I have ordered one from the wheelwright.' • But customers?' 'I will give you my custom in the first place, eighteen francs a month; (that dear friend! he paid as dear for water as wine !) and besides, I will have no more said about it; I have dismissed my water-carrier, and you would not have my wife and me die of thirst! That dear Madame Desgranges, indeed! Go, mon garçon, in three days, to work! and you, Madame Jacques, come along!' and he took Julienne-" "Yes, monsieur," interrupted the woman, "he took me, and put on the leather straps, and harnessed me; we were quite bewildered, Jacques and I. But who can hold back against Monsieur Desgranges? At the end of three days there we were; Jacques harnessed and drawing the cart with his cask of water, and I following and directing him how to go! We were ashamed at first as we went through the village, as if we had done something wrong; it seemed that everybody was going to laugh at us; but there was M. Desgranges in the street, crying, 'Allons, Jacques, courage!' |