BOOK NOTICES. THE UNIVERSALIST Register, though it comes to us late, is none the less welcome. It contains the usual statistics and list of ministers. The Chronological Table, showing the dates of the leading events in the history of Universalism after the age of the apostles, is a new feature in this issue. It was prepared by Rev. T. B. Thayer, and contains a large amount of valuable information. Short biographies of the ministers of our faith who have died during the past year, anecdotes, etc., etc., fill up the balance of the forty-eight pages. Price twelve cents. For sale by Tompkins and Co. THE MUSICAL SUNBEAM.-We have received a copy of this excellent work from the publisher, John Church, Jr., of Cincinnati, and after a careful examination of it, we can with pleasure recommend it to the teachers of our schools. It is a work of practical utility. Its departments of information and of suggestions are already of great value to the workers in the Sunday-school cause, while its department of music embraces a choice variety of tunes sufficient to last a school for more than three months. It is proposed to issue the work quarterly. The price to Sunday-schools is $10.00 per hundred. Sample copies may be obtained by enclosing fifteen cents to J. Church, Jr., Cincinnati, Ohio. NETTIE GAY.-This beautiful and attractive juvenile work, written by the wife of one of our Universalist clergymen, comes to `us fresh from the binders' hands. It is the narrative of the child-life of Nettie Gay touchingly told, and will commend itself to the innocent and loving nature of all children who may peruse it. Price $1.00. For sale by Tompkins and Co. MEMOIR OF MRS. ADAMS.-This little work comes to us from the press of the Universalist Publishing-house. It is an attractive memoir of Mrs. Mary H. Adams, written by her husband, and is the story of a truly Christian life worthy the example of all. More of such books in our Sunday-school libraries would do much to improve the religious culture of our children. Price eighty cents. For sale by Tompkins and Co. THE LADIES' REPOSITORY. VISIONS OF IDLERS. By J. Kendrick Fisher. GEORGE LINDSEY TO EDWIN BROOKE. "Oft in the stilly night, When slumbers chain hath bound us, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around us," etc. HAVE experienced the truth of this silence that left your thoughts undisturb ed has been caused by a growing mental disturbance which has now become uncontrollable.. I never told you of an early boyish dream, the only one that ever affected me deeply. You know all the fancies I have indulged since we were acquaint I old vong I have been here at ances and companions, and have many Frascati, under the care of Dr. Ferretti, whose skill may be great, but in whom I have less confidence than I have in Dr. Pollard. I am not a little uneasy, though my bodily health and strength should preclude alarm. I have not told you the cause, as I perhaps ought to have done, in fulfilment of our compact of mutual confidence, and confession of even foibles; and it might be better now to shake off what may be merely a bad mental habit, rather than weary you with an account of it; but you are entitled to a voice in the decision, and will at least give friendly counsel, and possibly relieve me; and I not in the least doubt that you will bear with my infirmity in any case, and try to preserve for me as favorable an opinion as possible. You have several times remarked that I have of late grown meditative, and less talkative than formerly. I take it that you thought the change for the better. The better for you, I am conscious; but for me, I fear it is for the worse. The MARCH, 1865. VOL. XXXIII. - NO. IX. times intimated that you could not understand why I did not avail myself of fair prospects with ladies whom we both deemed every way agreeable. There was but one cause, as I believe: a vision ever stood before me when I would have sought the favor of any one of those amiable and accomplished persons; and I doubted, hesitated, and could not offer a heart that was too much alive to a former impression. A sense of justice admonished me that I was not entitled to such devotion as I desired while my own devotion was not of the whole heart. That vision has of late revived, without such exciting cause. Since we arrived in Rome, indeed, since the time you first observed the change in my mood,— it has been increasing in distinctness, until it has become like reality, and is distinguishable from a real object only by its character, and not by want of objec tive distinctness. Of course, this is a symptom of extreme nervous excitement, such as sometimes manifests itself by ex hibition of the ruling passion, whether it I prized. It was the dreamy hope that be religion, or whatever else has for a time unduly exercised the mind. Dr. Pollard thought repose in this quiet retreat would relieve me, but the contrary effect is produced. I am less troubled when in company, and in presence of objects that fix my attention. I must disobey his injunction, and dismiss my Italian doctor, and inflict my misery upon you in Rome as soon as may be. Look out for me in a few days. If Pollard cannot help me, I have hope that you can; indeed, I suspect that I have needed the physician less than the metaphysician and the sincere friend. something above my own merit and fortune might one day warrant an avowal that conscience and honor then forbade. I devoted myself to study that I might become worthy of the felicity I dreamed of; and there was no counter-attraction in the sports which diverted our classmates. This made me seem a lover of learning, when really I had little taste for it. Our college life ended, I followed my natural bent, and went into commercial life. My dream seemed over; but it only slept, - a long sleep, indeed. You persevered in the pursuit you loved, because your genius was adapted to it, and rose as you merited. Those years of separation were long for me, and our reunion in New York was happy for me, and, I am anxious to believe, for you, also. Fortune favored us both, and here we are, two rich idlers, you intending to marry the most lovely of women, and devote your time to the service of your country; I, who have no capacity to serve the public, and no one to share my luxury and uneasiness, must dream on. You remember the statue which we both so much admire, I should say love. I suspect my contemplation of it has brought on this derangement. You may be surprised at such an idea; perhaps you will think it evidence of mental or moral weakness. You do not know how often I have seen this statue; for I have felt ashamed to tell you that I have been attracted to it almost daily, and have remained near it hours at a time. It does not in shape resemble the vision that haunts me; but in expression it is more But I must not dream on! I dare not like than anything living or dead that I say to you, my sincere friend, that I will ever saw. It has impressed itself on my abuse your friendship by such weakness. heart, and made me lament that I did not I will remember my duty to you, to my. seek the idol of my boyhood when I was self, and to others. If I cannot, like released from servitude, and unwisely re- you, resist the tendencies that seem likesorted to the Old World for objects of ly to degrade and destroy a great nation, interest. at least I may find some good to do,Do not imagine that this was a youth-some work of which I am capable. We ful courtship. Unfortunately, it was not. will consult on this matter in a few days. I never told my love; I had too much regard for justice, and too much sincere love, to desire that my lot of penury should be shared by one who could be I am not wholly disappointed by the desired by those who could give her a failure of Dr. Pollard's prescription; for happy home and high social position. II know enough of you to feel assured that had no selfish presumption, but did not love the less, did not the less desire the perfect happiness of my unconscious mistress because I could not hope to call her mine. EDWIN BROOKE TO GEORGE LINDSEY. you are sound in body and nerve, and need only exercise for the mind. I have known several cases of retired men, who, even with families to occupy their attention, became uneasy in idleness, and had When we were college chums, you won- to return to the active life they had dedered at my assiduity, and gave me cred-serted. I tell you again, you cannot be it for love of wisdom. I would have undeceived you, had I not feared derision, or rather a diminution of the esteem that happy in idleness, and for the fiftieth time I protest against the self-depreciation that restrains you from devoting yourself to the service of your country, as English gentlemen devote themselves. You do not try to speak in public; you are morbidly modest; you can speak well enough for business, and it will be the better if your modesty and good sense preserve you from that itch for speechmaking which kills all American institutions. Your unrivalled talent for business, which has made you independent very early in life, will be of more use to the country than all the oratory in Congress and the legislatures. I am enlightened by your singular confession. I now think I can understand you. I never before thought I fully understood you. I always wondered why a man of your taste and means should have resisted such attractions, and not taken a loving wife, or at least made an engagement to do so. I think I can serve you as physician or metaphysician better than Dr. Pollard, or your sage Italian. I have a presentiment a wild one, perhaps which I will consider before I tell you what it is. But come to Rome immediately. my As to your vision, and the cause you imagine to have excited or revived it, I have a strange crowd of suspicions. I have long ago observed that you sometimes have deep emotions when you see ladies at a distance. You remember the interest you manifested in a lady in Dr. A's church. You asked me who she was; I told you she was the wife of friend G. You were strangely excited during the whole service, and would wait at the door until she came out. You were disappointed, you had never seen her before. This is but one of many cases I remember. You never explained any of these cases further than to say you were mistaken, and had never seen them before. Now your slight shortsightedness enables your imagination to deceive you where there is a slight resemblance; that is clear to me, and there is nothing singular about it. Indistinct vision, whether caused by want of true focus in the eye, or by want of sufficient light, frequently causes mistakes of this kind. And in your case such a mistake revives the one image you have cherished for many years. Now you may have seen some one who slightly resembles your boyhood's idol, and yet not have been distinctly conscious at the time; that is, your feeling may have been affected, yet your understanding may have taken no note of the object. I have many times fancied that you were more than admiring ladies in whom I could see little to excite such regard, and on close view your serenity returned. I am faithfully blind to all the beauties we meet, unless they be statues, or in paintings, that you understand and approve. My Julia is quite as much. present to me as your vision is to you; but I fully sympathize with you in regard to our favorite statue, and wonder it is not celebrated. It has impressed itself on my memory and feeling, and I notice whatever resembles it in form or expression. And I have particularly and often noticed a lady who resembles it, especially in expression. You also have seen her when we have walked together on the Monte Pincio; but I think you did not see her near, - not near enough to see features clearly. Yet her contour and expression may have tended to revive this dormant idea of your early love, and this may have happened without your mental notice. What of all this? you will ask. I don't know. And when I don't know what to say, I sometimes say what comes uppermost. It may be the right idea, or lead to it. If I were free, I have no doubt I should fall in love with this lady. She is the most spiritual woman I ever met. I don't mean intellectual or strongminded or theological, or anything of the sort. I became acquainted with her the Sunday after you left Rome for Frascati. She is our countrywoman, and in a very pleasant party of relatives, to one of whom I was introduced, and took to him in your absence; and a fine fellow he is, -as you will say when you see him, — and it is worth your while to hasten back to Rome for the sake for enjoying his company for the short time he will remain. We have agreed that our favorite statue-pity it has no name! - is remarkable above all others for what we call purity of expression. Neither sad, melancholy, gay, lively, brusque, animated, dull, or otherwise positive, still less insipid or inanimate, but full of soul; so that, if one judged by feeling and not by sight, he would not be conscious that the object before him was marble and not life. The same impression is made on my feelings when I converse with this fair countrywoman of ours, or look at her when her attention is given to others. I deem it no disloyalty to love her as I love the beautiful statue. I wish you to see her. There are few objects in this repository of the world's art that more fully satisfy my sense of the beautiful. And what is most extraordinary, she never has disenchanted me by word or look that indicated imperfection. Looking at art, and yielding to inspiration, and dreaming of the beautiful, we wonder at the prospect, at what might be, or may be; but returning to present realities, we are humbled by the contrast, and hope almost deserts us. This discouraging view vanishes when I meet this incomparable woman. Hope is awakened. I forget my own lamentable imperfections, and the barbarism of the age, and look forward to a state in which human beings will be of more consequence to each other than material wealth can be. York, which you endured without loss of health. You can stand a little of the nuisance of this semi-barbarous age, if you will only exercise your mind and heart. The Cafe Nuovo, in Rome, occupies the principal floor of a palace, about three hundred feet long, with a spacious garden in the rear. It has but one fault, that is, in one half smoking is allowed; consequently, in the other half it is winked at, and everywhere the air is contaminated. Yet it is the fashionable cafe, in the popular sense of the word fashion. Most strangers resort to it, whether they like its air or dislike it, because it is the stranger's exchange. George Lindsey, a few evenings after the date of his friend's letter, sauntered through this cafe and its garden, and inquired of the waiters, but did not find whom he sought. He went to the cafe in the Piazza di Spagna, but even there his search was vain. Next morning early he surprised him at his hotel. They went together to the Cafe Nuovo for breakfast and news. There they met the new acquaintance of Brooke, with whom they spent the morning in visiting places of interest. Lindsey was delighted, and the interest and excitement relieved him from the disordered action of his imagination. He told Brooke that he believed him right. in prescribing employment rather than mere diversion for a mind that is out of order, in any degree from oddity to hypochondria. At parting, their new acquaintance invited them to spend the evening with him and his family party. On their way to the hotel of their new friend, Osgood, Lindsey said, “Brooke, has my malady left me to fall upon you? You seem moody and absent, while I feel quite cheerful." You must see this lady. I don't know why, but I feel as if she would dispel your moodiness. I have seen much of you, and I have this impression, decidedly. I don't believe in Frascati; we can find quiet nooks in our own country; while here, we should see all that the ancients have left us, and not waste time in the country. When we have seen all, and studied it well, I wish to go home, etc., etc., and I believe you will do well "No, my dear Lindsey, I trust not. to go with me, and get engaged in some- I am cheerful and quite well; and if I thing that will interest your feelings as do not converse as usual, it is because I well as satisfy curiosity. Come to-mor- have been for a few moments occupied row! Why not? What have you to in thoughts that somewhat baffle me. I detain you an hour? Never mind the will explain them to you when we have doctors, but take my advice. As for time for a long talk, but now we shall fresh air, the air in Rome is tolerably soon be at Osgood's, and find entertaingood, - quite as good as air in Newment much better than our own thoughts." |