LOVE WITH CLOSED EYES. THERE are in Paris two charitable persons, rich, young, and happy, who give especially to blind beggars, out of pity to them, and not on account of their dogs. I have seen them a hundred times pause before these poor people, smile sadly at their misfortune, and assist them with full hands. The poor blind people soon come to know them; they learn the way which leads to their home; they are never repulsed by the porter of this noble house; they are always certain to reach the charity of that dwelling with closed eyes. I have no right to mention the names of these two kind hearts of whom I write; I shall baptise them at will in a story which reveals the secret of their best charities-the charities of a tender recollection. "What I am about to tell you is not a fiction," said to me, one day, Frederic Arnay, a college friend of mine, a friend who does not hate me. "What I am about to tell you is not a romance; it is a history-my history-that of my wife. Think that since our separation on the benches of the Law School I have been blind, entirely blind. Try to listen and follow me; I will carry you to Switzerland, and I begin. "It was that beautiful country about Bâle, of a summer evening; I had been rambling all day, and was exhausted; my eyes had seen and admired so many natural beauties, that they were dazzled with them. I stumbled about in dizziness, which seemed like a painful intoxication. I knocked at the door of an excellent inn. I lay down, and immediately fell asleep in a good bed. I dreamed, and my dreams were charming, My friend, I only believe now in the beautiful dreams which we have when awake. "I awoke that day at the loud sound of a village song. I imagined immediately that the sun was up. Alas! no, my friend; the sun was still asleep, and the night began to seem to me very darkvery terrible. I heard, suddenly, the song of birds warbling in the fields; and I said to myself, with a kind of anxiety, 'Do the birds sing during the night?' I threw myself into the parlour, and by chance; and feeling my way, gliding along the wall, my hand at last reached the panes of the window. I hastened to open it. I seemed to breathe the odorous air which came from the flowers in the garden, undoubtedly to greet my waking; and I said, with a singular feeling of terror, 'The grass, the flowers, and the shrubs do not give out such warm perfumes as these in the night.' I proceeded to touch, with a trembling hand, the side of the window, and it felt hot to my touch. I said again, 'we do not feel the heat of the sun in the night-time.' 'Halloa!' I shouted, 'what o'clock is it ?' The village belfry condescending to answer me, the clock struck twelve. "At the same moment the servant of the inn knocked at my chamber-door. Will the gentleman breakfast ?' said he; it is noon.' "At these words I staggered like a drunken man. I saw nothing-no person before me,-night, always night. I hid my face in both my hands; I murmured some confused words; my eyes had no more sight; nothing but tears. I was blind. "When I recovered my senses, I found myself in a carriage, which was rolling at the swift speed of post-horses; a hand, soft and small enough to be that of a woman, was gently laid on mine. I had a travelling companion whom I did not know yet; and I asked without seeing her, Where am I?' "On the road to Germany.' "To what charitable friend have I the honour of speaking, Madame ?' "The Countess Rose de "How comes it, Madame, that you have taken pity on my misfortune.' "Just because you are unfortunate.' "What goodness, Madame, for a simple traveller, a stranger!' "I knew you well enough to recognise you at our first meeting. I have seen you often, very often, during the last winter at Paris, in the saloons of our embassy, and they called you Frederic d'Arnay. If I may believe the official indications of your passport, you desired to travel in Austria, did you not? Well, I too, am going to Vienna, my native country, to my family. This suits wonderfully, and we are travelling together.' "Alas! Madame, what can I see in travelling ?' "Will you allow me to see for you, M. Frederic ?' "I thought I was still dreaming in the chamber of the inv,-that the illusions of a vision were about me. Was it a reality? It seemed to me that I kissed with tears the hand of this woman,-young, pretty, rich, undoubtedly; and who found nothing better to do with such treasures than to lend her time to an unfortunate traveller, give her strength to a poor invalid, her beautiful eyes to a miserable blind man. "We travelled by easy stages. The Countess Rose was a rare and wonderful Antigone. It was not enough for her, my friend, to take care of me, to serve me, to lead me; she tried to comfort me, to cheer and amuse me, at a great cost of imagination, of kindness, of wit. "Almost all the friends we meet in this world bring their own ennuis without wishing to take ours. It was not thus for me with my admirable travelling companion. She might have found it tedious to keep up so long a tête-à-tête with a blind man; but nothing weary or sad ever escaped from her heart or her lips. I divined at every moment, by a sort of second-sight, that Rose was incessantly smiling upon me; and truly I saw her smile in her words. She found means to give sight to my extinct eyes-to my worthless eyes, as she looked from heaven to earth, and lavished upon my mind the wonders of the magnificent spectacle, which she described to me as we proceeded. As we approached the end of our journey, thanks to the divine goodness of a guardian angel, I dared to say to my sister, my protectress, my friend, to my Antigone, which you please, Madame, since invalids are the real spoiled children that must never be punished, allow me to address with impunity a question to you, which almost resembles folly." "I do not believe so,' replied Rose. "I continued my impertinence so far as to seek for the hand of the countess, which I finished by finding in my own. 666 'Madame, I know you are wise; are you not witty every day to amuse me? I know also that you are rich; you scatter your gold and your silver in the dust of the high road. I know that you are noble; you honour one of the highest names in aristocratic Germany. I know that you are good, excellent, and devout; your devotion to me is it not beneficent? I know, finally, that some time since you wore the mourning habits of an elegy that we call widowhood. You have been so kind as to speak to me in a subdued tone of the death of your husband; but what I do not yet know, what I much wish to know, because I am curious and indiscreet-have you designed to understand or to guess it madame ? 666 Yes, I understand; I guess; and I advise you to wait for the confession of a woman when her age shall be settled.' "And her beauty?' 666 That is settled by looking.' "But if one is blind?' 666 'He tries to see her without looking.' "I will try madame.' 66 "My indiscreet hand, guided by a mys. terious light, placed itself boldly on the forehead of the countess. The forehead of Rose was as smooth-as smooth-as soft-as the marble of a statue; and I imagined that it had a white and admir. able transparency. The hair of Rose was not far off; I imagined, as I touched it, that it was black, because it seemed to me thick, full, long, and silky. The hair of Rose showed me very clearly that my Antigone was a brunette. Gaining boldness, I passed my hand over her curls and her face, and I perceived that Rose was charming. The age of the countess remained for me to discover: her delicious manner of chatting and laughing could not belong to one more than twenty-five years old. "At Vienna I was installed in the hospitable house of the countess. The servants pressed around me; my friends of the French embassy visited me every morning; the voices of singers and the sounds of instruments inundated me every evening with floods of Italian music. Rose appeared to me-a poor blind man -more young and pretty than ever. Nothing was wanting to my happiness but one ray of sun,-less than that, one bit of light. "One day, after dinner, the countess conducted me mysteriously into my chamber, and I was placed in an immense chair, which served me as a couch for repose. In a short time two persons, one of whom walked like Rose, and the other more slowly, like an old man, approached my chair without speaking a word. They looked at me-I was sure of it. They were commiserating my misfortune, and this silent pity troubled me. "Who is there ?' I asked, with a voice trembling with emotion, mingled with anger. "I felt upon my brow a hand with which I was marvellously well acquainted; and I added, smiling, to the countess,"Rose, you are not alone here ?' 66 6 No, my friend; I come to see you with the most celebrated physician of Germany; he is here before you; he is examining you; he thinks he can and will cure you.' "Rose, it is not your hand which is now touching my forehead.' "Do not talk, Frederick; and keep perfectly still under the hands of the doctor.' "The physician lifted my eyelids, and, almost at the same moment, two dreadful punctures-two wounds from a dagger sharpened to a needle's point,-extorted from me a cry of anguish. A handkerchief, for a bandage, was thrown over my eyes; the handkerchief belonged to Rose, perhaps, and there was nothing more to be said till the next day. "The next day, at evening, the countess lighted a single watching lamp in my room. She came to place herself before me; the doctor was not far off doubtless. There were many others about me, and yet I heard nothing in this crowd; so attentive, so uneasy, and the silence of which had something so alarming. Finally, the bandage fell from my eyes, and you can faintly imagine my joy, my happiness, my delirium: the blind man was born I saw men, again to life and light. women, young girls, the servants of the house, who smiled at the miracle of such a resurrection. It seemed to me that I should know the countess without ever having seen her; and I said to myself, looking in turn at the ladies who had the goodness to smile so thankfully upon me, "Where is Rose? Where does she hide herself? Oh, God! restore to me the eternity of night, that I may see Rose one moment; that I may contemplate, that I may admire, that I may recal her beauty.' "A voice, whose sound made me tremble, gave reply to my thoughts "Frederic,' said the countess to me, 'after God, who has protected you, here is your deliverer; thank God in the first place, and then thank Dr. Muhldorff.' Why should I thank the doctor? He had cured me, but the countess alone had saved me. My first look belonged to Rose, and I had hastened to give it to her, as if to say, 'To my deliverer, my grateful eyes.' "Oh, my friend, what a surprise; what shame, what grief! This Rose, so pretty, Rose, my well-beloved, was a woman already faded and wrinkled by age. I confess it to you, I almost fainted as I knelt at her feet. I soon resumed my precious bandage; I became blind again by the orders of my doctor; and I found again in my heart, with the image of the lovely person I had imagined, the illusions of my dream. Every evening, at the same hour, they accustomed me, in restoring to me my sight, to bear the light of the watching lamp. A lamp afterwards took the place of this dim light, and I awaited patiently the time when this lamp should be replaced by the sun. "A strange thing - singular vision, which could only be an accident of love and light. Every evening, in looking closely at her, I thought I discovered in the old age of my protectress a grace which was not too old-a smile which had a certain charm, glances which did not lack coquetry, a mysterious treasury, that love had forgotten to resume in flying away with her youth. Oh, every day brought to my eyes a light more brilliant than that of the previous one; and, at the same time, by a miracle which alarmed my reason, the days, the minutes seemed for my pleasure to make the noble face of the countess grow younger. A secret voice murmured in the bottom of my heart. Yet one magic stroke, one touch on this new picture, on this face which is undergoing a metamorphosis, and the wonder will be complete. The countess of fifty will disappear, and the Rose of hardly twenty-five will re-appear to remain for ever. "One fine morning the sun illuminated the spectacle with a rare and charming prodigy. This day for the first time I had received from my doctor the delicious privilege of contemplating the splendours of the celestial light. I had just returned to the saloon of the countess, after a long and magnificent walk. I approached Rose, who was alone, and perhaps expecting me. I trembled as I seated myself near her; I cast down my eyes for fear of seeing her, or rather I feared and wished at the same time to look at her. "Frederic,' asked the countess, 'do you remember a pleasant incident which passed between us in my travelling Berlin ? You were blind, and exactly because you were so, you desired to see the face of your Antigone. Is it not true every one adores the impossible." "I remember it, madame; and I am ashamed of my curiosity, of my audacity.' "I have forgiven you. It was not easy for a blind man to see well the face of a woman. You remember in what way you sought to find it out to discover to see it.' "I remember, madame.' "You said to me with a singular fatuity, I know you. I have looked at you-I have seen you.' "I spoke the truth, madame.' "You repeated to me every moment, Madame, you have beautiful black hair, great blue eyes, a mouth always smiling, lips very fresh, everything most lovely. Madame, your beauty is admirable.' "I admired you, madame.' "Alas, my Frederic, what are you going to do with your complaisant admiration. The blind man proposes, and the clearsighted man disposes. Look at me.' "I looked at the countess. 'Rose, Rose,' cried I, prostrating myself at her feet, there is a God who protects the blind. I know you now I look at you and see you again. Yes, yes, you have the beautiful black hair, the great blue eyes, the ever fresh lips, a mouth ever smiling, everything most lovely: and I have found again all which appeared admirable to me. I understand all; you have done for my sick heart what the doctor has done for my weak eyes. The doctor protected my eyes from the strong rays of light; you have spared, my love, the radiant glory of your bounty.' 66 "And now you know," concluded my friend, 'the wonderful story of my misfortune, of my marriage-of my happiness. You know the secret of the charitable preference which surprises many persons; you know the mystery of some smiling charities which Rose and I drop into the hands of the poor blind. give with the charity of memory, our eyes turned towards the light of heaven." FEMALE SOCIETY. We You know my opinion of female society. This observation applies with tenfold force Without it we should degenerate into brutes. to young men and those who are in the prime of manhood. For, after a certain time of life, the literary man may make a shift (a poor one I grant) to do without the society of ladies. To a young man nothing is so important as a spirit of devotion (next to his Creator) to some amiable woman, whose image may occupy his heart, and guard it from pollution, which besets it on all sides. A man ought to choose his wife, as Mrs. Primrose did her wedding-gown, for qualities that "wear well." One thing, at least, is true, that if matrimony has its cares, celibacy has no pleasure. A Newton, or a mere scholar, may find employment in study; a man of literary taste can receive in books a powerful auxiliary; but a man must have a bosom friend and children round him to cherish and support the dreariness of old age.—John Randolph. ORIGINAL POETRY. AUTUMN. I LOVE thee, Autumn, with thy golden tints, Whose bount'ous hand profusely scattered you THE EOLIAN HARP. How oft have I, in silent hour, When all around was dead in sleep And thought a voice, beyond the deep, When the wind would whistle shrill, When that frantic blast would rise, ' REMOVALS. YES! there's a mystic tie Not on the heart! But when compelled to leave Life 'tis a weary thing To the wild waves. Oh! for that world above- Dwelling in light and love With him who saves ! SAMUEL E. THE GIFT. SWEET Kate upon her faithful Ned A portrait! where the painter's skill And "Oh!" she cried, "When far away One parting kiss, the fond adieu The gallant ship, with sails unfurled, Her voyage performed, with joyful heart Which, charmed by Love, in danger's hour Placed near his heart, a bullet struck- The faithful shield had all unharmed WILD AND FREE. PENNA. WILD and free the waves are dashing Over plain and over hill: Wild and free the river's flowing And the human eye can trace Music, Poetry, and Painting, Side by side, they grow in grandeur, |