Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

ful action. He invented a machine, or rather apparatus, by which it was hoped she might be removed in safety; and she, confiding in his love and care, did not hesitate to encounter the pain and danger that must be undergone. Nor was her trust misplaced; the journey of some ten or fifteen miles was happily accomplished, not indeed without pain, but without any serious aggravation of her habitual sufferings, and better still, without the dreaded "trance;" and soon they were comfortably established in their new habi

tation.

Here they remained, the long afflicted cripple and her sister, for nearly wenty years; for aught I know to the contrary, they may be living still, although it is more probable that in the ten years that have elapsed since I was in that part, death has given his not unwelcome summons to the heroine of this simple narrative. During those twenty years, the conduct of Mr. Lewis was the same that it had been through the preceding ten; he was still the friend, comforter, and benefactor of the sisters, and still denied himself almost every gratification save that which came reflected back from them. When I saw him, he was an elderly man, of a pleasant though serious aspect; universally respected for his upright deportment in all the relations of society, but above all for his noble fidelity to the afflicted woman from whom he had expected happiness, but whom it had been his life's employment to shield from want, and from aggravation of her suffering and sorrow. A striking exemplification of this was given by the churchwardens of the parish in which Miss R. and her sister lived. It has been already said that the susceptibility of the invalid to those cataleptic paroxysms, increased as she advanced in years; it was at last found that they were brought on even by distant noises, such as thunder, and the ringing of bells; and it is a fact, that at the simple request of Mr. Lewis, so anxious were all to do' him kindness, the bell of the parish church had not been rung for nearly eleven years, when I was in the neighbourhood and became acquainted with his history.

This was, indeed, " affection strong as death."

REMINISCENCES OF A TURNKEY.

"Men descend into the crater of Vesuvius to search out the causes of its eruptions, and why should they attend more to physical than to moral phenomena ? Why should not the circumstances which enter into a great crime be thoroughly examined? They should be sought out in the immutable constitution of the human soul, and in the mutable and endlessly various causes which operate upon it: and then we should no more be suprised to find the poisonous herb flourishing in the same plot with the wholesome plant-to find wisdom and folly, vice and virtue, born in the same cradle."

THE elegant and profound Schiller is one of the few men who seem to have studied the philosophy of crime. Would that he had pursued his researches farther and deeper than he has done. Society would have been his debtor in a degree almost unexampled. That great man looked into the human heart with more than the vision of a poet: or rather, we should say, he looked with that vision which belongs only to the great few who combine equally the rare and seemingly discordant powers of lofty imagination and of far searching and refined analysis. Such are the materials of genuine poetry, which speaks a language at once universal and undying. How different would criminal law be if legislators understood the metaphysics of crime! Instead of its equally merciful and severe adhesion to the strict letter of the statute, and its inadequate key-maxim that it is intended for the prevention of crime, might we not hope for a code of more discriminating provisions, modifiable by the events which lie in the long shadow of the past, and which so often contribute their inperceptible influence in our aberrations from innocence; and that the adaptation of the penal code might be so tempered with

humanity, as to operate as a real, and not merely a nominal, preventive of crime?

Such a view, at least, have I been led to take of this subject; not, perhaps, from any original and peculiar power of investigation, so much as from my situation in life. For the last twenty years I have occupied the unenviable situation of a prison turnkey an office I at first took from necessity, and afterwards retained from choice; for what would have been to me a position in every respect miserable, had I restricted myself to the mere duties of my office, was by proper management made conducive to happiness, since it is always a pleasure to minister to the wants of our fellow men, and gratifying even if we can extend toward them nothing but our sympathy. He little knows the heart of man, who fancies that the most hardened wretch is callous to the voice of nature. There are more chords in the human bosom than in the most susceptible instrument of sound: and there are many in every heart, which, when touched with delicacy, must respond in unison. I have known a prisoner, who seemed to have lost all sense of sympathy, weep at the song of a robin. I could have told that man's tale of suffering, had he not been melted to communication. It was disappointed love that turned him from the path of duty: and the music of the red-breast was the link in a chain of associations, which terminating in happiness and in misery, broke up the flood-gates of feeling, and dissolved a heart which was not wholly lost to humanity.

It was a common thing with me to converse freely with the prisoners under my charge: and I always took notes of such conversations, the moment an opportunity offered. They are written down as answers to interrogatories, though sometimes the narrative continues in a connected manner for a great length. May their publication have a good tendency, May they lead those who are removed from temptation, to be grateful to the only Power which can save them from the charmer; and may men learn from these pages how narrow is the

gulf which separates the perpetrator of the worst crimes from him who, in fancied security, looks down with abhorrence on his brother. I shall commence with the story of the criminal alluded to above. He was executed for murder.

THE CONFESSION OF ALLAN

RINGGOLD.

When I look back on my early life, I am astonished at the common impression, that childhood is a holiday of pleasure. To me it was far different. I am not aware that I had more to make me unhappy than others: on the contrary, my situation was, perhaps, as favourable for the development of a gentle disposition, and as conducive to that state of mind and heart which afford pleasurable emotions, as that of most children. My parents were respectable people, who had lived in the thickly-settled town of for many years, where I was born in the year '92. I had three brothers older than myself, and one sister who was younger. It is a little singular that I, who loved my brothers better than I loved myself, if I knew my own heart, could never hold any communion with them: I mean any intimate communion, such as inspires an interchange of confidence. How often have I turned away and wept in the anguish of my heart, to find myself so constantly misunderstood, when my love yearned for their sympathy. This is no picture of fancy. So true is it, that I am persuaded that many who read these lines recognize no extraordinarycase. The feeling I have spoken of was not confined to my brothers; it was extended to my play-mates. Among these there was always one whom I loved most dearly. When I remember the strength of my attachment to those who may have cared nothing for me, I am amazed at the almost passionate depth of my boyish attachment. I used to brood over the very image of him I loved, as we all do over the features of the most adored female who kindles the first flame of love within us. tion to this fervour of feeling was my jealousy of reciprocation. The merest

In propor

slight imaginable would stay the bright current of delicious thought, and roll it back on my heart in black and turbid fury. Will it be believed that such revulsions of temper gave me the most exquisite pleasure-agonising, yet exquisite in its very agony, and pleasurable from the mere violence of the emotions? Such, however, is the truth but let it be remembered that these attachments were entirely of the imagination, and were almost wholly unrequited. I never told my love. You may, perhaps, smile at this. But it was the germ of a principle all-important and all-operating in the subsequent stages of my existence.

I have spoken of my childhood. One thing, however, I had omitted to mention. My mind was naturally contemplative. I was accustomed, from a spirit of emulation, and not from any pleasure I took in them, to join in the sports of my school-fellows; and though I entered into them with seeming alacrity, I was always glad when I could be alone, that I might wander away amid the undisturbed recesses of nature, and torment myself with the most indescribable feelings. My imagination was active, and I possessed the keenest relish for natural scenery; but my reveries always turned from the admiration of external things to the self-brooding contemplation of metaphysical abstractions. At the early age of eleven, the realising of my existence was the most painful of all my sufferings. I could not help constantly viewing myself as something apart from the whole world; and how to comprehend the miracle preyed so upon my mind, that I am confident I was bordering on insanity. The mind, at so early an age, is too feeble to endure the attrition of this action; and the consequence was, a state of such nervous irritability followed, that even to this day, hardened as I am in crime, I have moods, in which the rush in a whirl of leaves would jar on my system like the vibration of the air when it thunders.

The picture of my childhood is that of my youth. At school I was at the same time the smartest and the dullest boy. My cleverness could never reach my tasks. I have many a time

pored over my Latin and Greek grammar hour after hour; and when I came to recitation, I could hardly remember a tenth part, and that I did not understand. Other boys would say their lessons in triumph-while I was considered a dunce. I had even then a most thorough contempt for my master, who beat me unmercifully; for I felt myself not only superior to the whole school, but to himself particularly. I never could learn any thing which I did not understand: and when I have asked my instructor (heaven save the mark) for a reason why a rule was so and so, he was in the habit of telling me, "that it was not necessary for me to understand it; my duty was to learn it." I used to suspect the fellow's ignorance. The unavoidable effect of my education was to give me a strong sense of injustice done toward myself. I was ambitious of excelling, but my master did not know how to bring my mind out. The consequence was, I used to play all sorts of pranks, and became the leader in all schemes for making the stove smoke, altering the clock, tripping up the master's heels, and all the nameless follies of ungovernable youth. For these exploits, I always got a severe trouncing; but this I enjoyed, as it gave me opportunities of showing my fortitude: and here I had the satisfaction of surpassing all the other boys. I was never known to shed a tear on being whipped; but a cutting rebuke made a baby of me instantly. In this manner passed my school-days; when I entered the university with that kind of knowledge, which I picked up from hearing lessons ding-donged over several thousand times; for study I did not, having long before given that up in despair. To tell the truth, I went to college, because I knew I could there be as idle as I pleased; and nothing I loved so much as this. I ought rather to say that I loved indolence: idle I could not be. It will not be expected that I made much of a figure at a university. Here I acted over again my school tricks on a larger scale; but my mind had somewhat opened at the age of seventeen, and I had a great reputation among the scholars for genius, and a greater reputation among the

professors for dulness. If I had previously formed habits of study, I should have taken the lead in my class; but it was too late to apply myself then. I had too much lee-way to bring up, if I had attempted it; but I used to take a secret satisfaction in helping some of the best scholars in my class, and in seeing them shine through me in recitation, while I was passed by, as a regular "dead set.'

I graduated at the fag-end of my class, after having delivered an oration before them at their request, which astonished the faculty who were present as well as the students. The college government thought I stole it. They could not understand how one, who could not "dash" in recitation, could do anything clever. Here was another lesson of injustice.

I had now graduated at the university, and the next step to be taken was to fix on some occupation in life. On this subject I thought long and deeply. At one time I had half resolved to prepare for the ministry; at another, medicine appeared to present peculiar attractions at length, however, very much to the satisfaction of my friends, I fixed on the law, as the profession best suited to my talents and temperament. With the determination of devoting myself to this great object, I retired to the country, and put myself under the superintendence of an able lawyer, whose practice was very extensive in the neighbouring counties, and whose library was quite sufficient for my purpose. With what pleasure do I look back on those days! Then, for the first time in my life, I realised the pure and deeply-felt enjoyment of study. For the first time my mind seemed to inhale its proper atmosphere-my spirits, always buoyant, gained an elasticity which I had never before experienced. With what gladness I used to bound among the hills of that delightful town, and drink in the wholesome gales that made the green leaves rush together in wild mirth, and make music among the branches! With what subdued and heartfelt pleasure I used to wander on the banks of that beautiful river, where the sycamore and elm vied in luxuriant garniture, and bowed their branches together so as to span

me.

the waters with a green arcade! It was here that a new scene opened to It was here that the fire of my nature, which had heretofore only smouldered in secrecy, burst out with the fury of a volcano. Must I revert to these hours? must I call back the lights and shadows of the past? must I revive the million rainbow-hues of fancy, only to shroud them again in the horrors of a hopeless, rayless insanity? must I call back, in imagination, the pure and guileless Margaret? Well, be it so. The bitterness of death is already past: the worm that dieth not must have his banquet, and my heart and mind are spread out for its eternal festival.

Why should I speak of the parentage of Margaret Percival? Let it pass. It is enough that she was the glory and the freshness of a dream. Her image haunts me with such vivid reality that I am deterred from portraying its exceeding beauty. I saw her, and loved! I visited her often, but I never whispered my passion. I knew that my love was not wholly unrequited, yet I could not tell her that I loved her. I have walked with her arm in arm, when the river was studded with stars, and when the music of the groves was loudest. Once, as we leaned together on a rude fence to watch the gambols of a few innocent lambs, a robin perched close by us on the blossom-covered limb of an apple-tree, and, as he showered down the snowy petals, poured forth such a flood of music that our hearts melted together. It was a moment which could never happen again—and I suffered it to pass unimproved. My misery dates from that hour.

I returned after an absence of three months—and Margaret was married! What had I done to deserve such treatment? What had I left undone, that a man of spirit and honour should have done in my case? The imbecility of my nature had finally done its worst. I had thrown away a pearl "richer than all his tribe." I had lost the girl I loved through utter infirmity of purpose. Shall I say that hope expired in my bosom, that despair rioted in the usurped sanctuary of the holiest affection? it were idle breath. I was

scorched with a fever that would not consume the same fire that even now rushes through my veins and makes me border on madness without reaching it. Oh, the hell of mind, when the twilight of reason remains after its sun is set, and the darkness is seen gathering thicker and deeper, and madness becomes tangible and known! I wandered in the woods, and subsisted for days I know not how-my canopy the skies, my couch the wet grass. Physical and moral torture contended for the mastery. Often I made a weak effort to fix my mind long enough to direct my steps homeward; but it seemed as if volition had been broken down-I could not will for a minute. I was half mad, and I knew it. A new feeling suddenly seized me. I ought to kill the man who has rifled me of my heart's treasure. The moment this thought crossed my seared brain, it possessed it. That will, which before could not remain constant for a moment, was now fixed as the lodestar. I laughed long and loud, starting and shuddering at the unnatural sounds I had made-knowing myself to be delirious, with a feeling allied to that we have in dreams, but fully bent on my purpose and utterly reckless of all consequences. I sought the habitation of the man I hated. Screened by a hedge, I watched for him hour after hour, every moment of which seemed a day to my agonised conception. Time to me was no more -it was eternity. At last I saw him walking by-he stopped at the very spot where I was concealed-the hedge was of sweet-briar-he took his knife from his pocket and cut a slip from the bush. "This in remembrance of you, dear Margaret !" he sighed. Could I bear that?

[blocks in formation]

whenever an importunate stable-keeper has presented my "governor" with a long bill to be liquidated. When the worthy old gentleman, with tears in his eyes, remonstrated with me for going to a horse-race, I answered, with great dignity-" Sir, Philip, king of Macedon, the father of Alexander the Great, was a patron of the turf: his horse, Phrenicus, was a winner of sweepstakes, and the poet Pindar celebrated the triumph." My guardian said nothing, but he turned very red in the face, and walked away.

Of all the heroes of antiquity, Alexander the Great was most famous for his jockeyship. His breaking Bucephalus, according to a celebrated historian, was the action which first inspired hopes of a brilliant career, and which gave Philip a glimpse, as it were, of those noble and heroic exploits, which eventually crowned his son with glory. Some have thought that too much praise has been lavished upon the youthful hero for his earliest exploit; but this is far from being our opinion. Bucephalus was sent to Philip as a present; and, undoubtedly, an animal which was thought worthy of being offered to so renowned a king and conqueror, who owned the winner of the Olympic plate, and always calculated to drive a pretty good team, must have been a jewel of a steed. He was not warranted, in classical language, "gentle to ride and drive, and good in any kind of harness;" but, on the contrary, he was acknowledged fierce and untamable as a tiger.

Alexander thought he could break him. Philip tried to dissuade his son from the attempt, but in vain, and finally exclaimed"Mount him, then, like an obstinate fool; and I hope to Jupiter he'll break your neck." His son approached the fiery horse. Now it must be borne in mind, that Alexander had no saddle and stirrups, which were of later invention; consequently he rode bare-back. Neither had he that great consolation to a gentleman who rides a hard-going nag-a pair of buckskin unwhisperables. Yet he leaped on the horse and brought him to subjection. Philip was delighted. "My son," said he, "discover America, for the known world is too small for you to conquer."

« AnteriorContinuar »