VESUVIUS.

BY BULWER-LYTTON.

A Descriptive Study.

ESPERUS had lighted his lamp

Hamidst the rosy skies as the party ar

rived at Resina. Here they quitted their horses and took mules and a guide. As the sky grew darker and more dark, the mountain fire burned with an intense lustre. In various streaks and streamlets, the fountain of flame rolled down the dark summit, and the Englishmen began to feel increase upon them, as they ascended, that sensation of solemnity and awe which makes the very atmosphere that surrounds the Giant of the Plains that of Hades.

It was night when, leaving the mules, they ascended on foot, accompanied by their guide and a peasant who bore a rude torch. When the little party had arrived nearly at the summit of the mountain, unspeakably grand was the spectacle on which they gazed. From the crater arose a vapor, intensely dark, that overspread the whole background of the heavens, in the centre whereof rose a flame that assumed a form singularly beautiful. It might have been compared to a crest of gigantic feathers, the diadem of the mountain, high, arched and drooping downward, with the hues delicately shaded off, and the whole shifting and tremulous as the plumage on a warrior's helmet. glare of the flame spread, luminous and crimson, over the dark and rugged ground on which they stood, and drew an innumerable variety of shadows from crag and hollow. An oppressive and sulphurous exhalation served to increase the gloomy and sublime terror of the place.

The

But on turning from the mountain and toward the distant and unseen ocean, the contrast was wonderfully great. The heavens serene and blue, the stars still and calm as divine love. It was as if the realms of the opposing principles of Evil and of Good were brought in one view before the gaze of

man!

Glyndon-the enthusiast, the artist-was enchained and entranced by emotions vague and undefinable, half of delight and half of pain. Leaning on the shoulder of his friend, he gazed around, and heard, with deepening awe, the rumbling of the earth below, the wheels and voices of Nature in her darkest and most inscrutable recess.

Suddenly as a bomb from a shell, a huge stone was flung hundreds of yards up from the jaws of the crater, and, falling with a mighty crash upon the rock below, split into

ten thousand fragments, which bounded down the sides of the mountain, sparkling and groaning as they went. One of these, the largest fragment. struck the ground not three feet from where the party stood. With exclamations of terror, they fled away with as much swiftness as they were able to command. But they had not gone many yards, before, with a rushing and sudden blast, came from the crater an enormous

volume of vapor. It pursued-it overtookit overspread them. It swept the light from the heavens. All was abrupt and utter darkness; and through the gloom was heard the shout of the guide, already distant, and lost in an instant amidst the sound of the rushing gust and the groans of the earth beneath. The vapor rolled sullenly away; the form of the plumed fire was again visible, and its struggling and perturbed reflection again shed a glow over the horrors of the path.

Glyndon recovered himself, and sped onward. Dizzy and breathless, he bounded forward, when-hark! a sullen, slow rolling sounded in his ear! He halted and turned back to gaze. The fire had overflowed its course; it had opened for itself a channel amidst the furrows of the mountain. The stream pursued him fast-fast; and the hot breath of the chasing and preternatural foe came closer and closer upon his cheek! He turned aside; he climbed desperately, with hands and feet, upon a crag, that, to the right, broke the scathed and blasted level of the soil. The stream rolled beside and beneath him, and then, taking a sudden wind round the spot on which he stood, interposed its liquid fire-a broad and impassible barrier between his resting-place and escape. There he stocd, cut off from descent, and with no alternative but to retrace his steps toward the crater and thence seek, without guide or clue, some other pathway.

For a moment his courage left him; he cried aloud in despair. No answer came; and the Englishman, thus abandoned to his own resources, felt his spirit and energy rise against the danger. He turned back, and ventured as far toward the crater as the noxious exhalation would permit; then, gazing below, carefully and deliberately, he chalked out for himself a path by which he trusted to shun the direction the fire-stream had taken, and trod firmly and quickly over the crumbling and heated strata.

He had proceeded about fifty yards when he halted abruptly. An unspeakable and unaccountable horror, not hitherto experienced amidst all his peril, came over him. He shook in every limb; his muscles refused his will; he felt, as it were, palsied and death-stricken. The horror was unaccountable, for the path seemed clear and safe.

The fire, above and behind, burned clear and far, and beyond, the stars lent him their cheering guidance. No obstacle was visible -no danger seemed at hand.

As thus, spellbound and panic-stricken, he stood chained to the soil, his breast heaving, large drops rolling down his brow, and his eyes starting wildly from their sockets, he saw before him, at some distance, gradually shaping itself more and more distinctly to his gaze, a colossal shadow-a shadow that seemed partially borrowed from the human shape, but immeasurably above the human stature; vague, dark, almost formless, and differing, he could not tell where or why, not only from the proportions, but also from the limbs and outline of man. The glare of the volcano, that seemed to shrink and collapse from this gigantic and appalling apparition, nevertheless threw its light, redly and steadily, upon another shape that stood beside, quiet and motionless.

It was but for a moment-nay, the tenth part of a moment-that this sight was permitted to the wanderer. A second eddy of sulphurous vapor from the volcano, yet more rapidly, yet more densely than its predecessor, rolled over the mountain; and either the nature of the exhalation or the excess of his own dread was such, that Glyndon, after one wild gasp for breath, fell senseless on

the earth.

11.

DAWSON'S WOMAN.

WAN

BY WILSON MILLER.

WANT to hear about Jim Dawson ? he's a little tetched, you know; Somethin' ails his upper story-kinder cracked--he's harmless, though.

How it sends the chilly shivers up an' down my spinal bone,

Freezes up my very marrer, when I think how Dawson's gone!

But about that Dawson fam'ly. Jim, he come in eighty-four,

Took up land an' built a shanty, batched it fer a year or more;

Jim wuz such a jolly feller-such a bang-up clever one,

That we liked him, an' we used to ask him over, an' he come

Purty often; Marthy wondered if he'd took a shine to Cad

She's our oldest gal, an' handsome, if she does look like her dad;

But Jim didn't do no courtin' 'round our gals, an' soon the boy, Blushin', awkward, tol' my folks he'd got a gal in Illinoy.

Then he got more confidential after that, an' said that he

Would be married in September; said her folks wuz farmers; she

Hed been teachin' school a little, so's to help her folks to hum;

Said she made han'-painted picters, an' could play pianer some.

Wal, he brought her in September. but she was purty though;

Phew!

My gals couldn't hold a candle to her, an' yet they ain't so slow:

My two gals hev got the muscle, they kin plow an' use the hoe,

But long side o' her, fer beauty, my gals didn't stan' no show.

An' ye'd ort to see that shanty blossom out when she got there

White lace curtains at the winders, ingrain carpet on the floor,

Drapes, an' lamberquins, an' tidies-ribbon bows just filled the air!

Lots o' things I never heard of Dawson's woman brought out here.

Bunch o' cat-tails in the corner-painted chromos everywheres,

Little bags o' scented cotton hangin' on the backs o' chairs;

An' a-standin' in the corner, on a kind o' crooked rack,

Wuz some painted jugs an' vases — think she called 'em bricky-brac.

That ranch paralyzed the natives here; some on 'em used to swear

That it looked like heaven ort to, with a angel

hov'rin' there;

I kin tell ye, mister, that it wa'n't exaggeratin' things

Very much, fer Dawson's woman wuz a angel, bar the wings.

Ez fer Jim-wal now, ye couldn't tech him with a ten-foot pole,

Used to stay to hum on Sundays; ez a man she called Jim "whole."

She wa'n't no shakes at housework, said she never hed no luck;

So Jim washed an' scrubbed the kitchen floor, an' helped her cook the chuck. She told Marthy, confidential, when they'd got enough ahead

Built a house with foldin' doors, an' porch an' winder blinds, she said

They'd go back to see her mother, an' she told her, too, that day,

When they got rich, they wuz goin' back to Illinoy to stay.

Their hard time begun that winter, fer the blizzards they raised Ned

Froze the horses in the stables, froze the cattle in the shed,

Folks took lots of exercise, ye see, the temper'ture wuz low,

An' fuel high; we went without some necessaries, too.

Then the crops played out next season, fer the rust got in the wheat,

Dews an' sunshine done the business, an' our hailstorms can't be beat; Hail-an' hearty, too, I reckon, fer they pelted at the corn,

Till they drove it out o' sight, an' let no second crop be born.

We're used to it, ez I told ye, but we got downhearted some,

Waitin' fer that summer's harvest, which it never, somehow, come.

Dawson's folks got clean discouraged, never seen 'em smile till-wal,

That there mornin' Jim come over, grinned, an' said they'd got a gal. Somewhat later, Dawson's woman piled the chromos in a heap,

Packed up all the fancy truck around the

ranch, jest made a sweep;

She brought out all the bricky-brac, an' took the curtains down,

Loaded up the one-hoss wagon, took the kid, an' broke fer town.

I saw her comin' up the road, an' hollered, 'What's to pay?"

64

She said, "Why, debts, o' course," then laughed an' turned her face away;

She said they didn't need the things at all then tried to cough;

She said she'd take 'em up to town an' try to sell 'em off.

I noticed that her eyes wuz red, but she went on to say

How the shanty wuz so crowded that the baby couldn't play.

She sold the traps an' paid the bills, an' hed enough, she did,

To buy a coat fer Jim, an' shoes an' dresses fer the kid.

I think Dawson's wife got homesick; don't believe she liked the West;

Guess she didn't like the sandstones, ner the

Injins at their best;

Never'd seen a lively Injin till she come here, an' they used

To skeer her some, likewise the cowboys, prowlin' 'round the roost.

Then a cyclone blew upon us, when the spring wuz gittin' green, Struck us right an' left an' forrards, till it shaved the country clean;

In a quite emphatic manner lifted all we hed to spare

Splintered shanties, barns an' fences

kindlin' wood whizzed through the air. Dawsons went to town that day, or else I don't know where they'd b'en,

They camped with us a week or two till they'd built up again;

We wuz boardin' in the cellar, with a hay-,

stack fer a roof,

Which that breeze hed kindly put there, an' we thought it good enough.

Crops wuz more than slim that summer, fer we hed a little drouth

Clean from April to September, not a drop to wet yer mouth

From the sky; we kep' from chokin' at the river, till it slid,

Then brought water by the quart an' counted it by drops, we did.

How the sun swooped down upon us! how it scorched an' cracked the land! How it parched the fields o' grain an' cooked the taters in the sand!

Sucked up all the cricks an' rivers in Nebrasky, an' I'll bet

It raised a row aloft at night because it hed to set.

After that we hed the prairie fire - November, eighty-eight;

If ye want to see the jaws o' hell a-gapin' at ye straight,

With a million hissin' tongues o' flame, an' see them risin' higher,

An' ye hain't got no ranch to save, jest watch a prairie fire.

Miles away we heard it crackle, all the sky wuz blazin' red;

Tumble weeds ez big ez hay-stacks helped to take the flames ahead;

All the land wuz jest like tinder, an' the wind wuz blowin' hard,

So the flames got mighty frisky, seen 'em jump two hundred yard.

Wal, we done some heavy plowin' 'round the Dawson ranch that day,

An' the wind jest took a friendly freak, an' drew the flames our way.

We saved our lives by managin', I might relate jest how,

But I'm tellin' Dawson's story, an' my own ain't nowhere now.

Ez we crawled to Neighbor Dawson's when the fire hed gone that day,

We saw a bundle, which it 'peared the wind hed blowed away;

It wuz lyin' in the gumbo near the road, an' partly hid,

An' I hope to holler, stranger, if it wuzn't

Dawson's kid!

She hed wandered from her mother, in the midst of smoke an' flare,

She wuz little, so the hungry flames forgot an' left her there,

Lyin' smothered by the roadway; so we took her to the home

Where she'd furnished all the brightness through so many days o' gloom.

Dawson's woman never held her head up after that, they say

Teased fer Jim to take her home; he set an' watched her every day

Till the end, an' told her soon ez he could git enough ahead

They'd go back to Illinoy; "An' take the little one," she said.

Dawson's got some luny notions; he told Parson Gibbs, one day,

That he didn't b'lieve in God, no matter what the preachers say

Said if there wuz sech a bein', that he wouldn't hey the cheek

To handle folks so rough, when he hed made 'em poor and weak.

Settin' by them grave mounds yender, 'mongst the burs an' prickly pear, Dawson spends a heap o' time; he says he's 'feard they're lonesome there;

Says it ain't no place to keep 'em, an' he told me, jest to-day,

If he ever could he'd take 'em back to Illinoy

to stay.

They who repose 'mong northern snows,
In icy cerements lapped,

Or in the mould of Italy

All sweltering are wrapped;
Who sleep beneath the oozy Nile
Or desert's whirling sand,

Break from their graves, and, armèd all,
Spring up at the command.

And at midnight, from death's sullen sleep,
The trumpeter arose;

He mounts his steed, and loud and long
His pealing trumpet blows.

Each horseman heard it as he lay
Deep in his gory shroud,

And to the call these heroes all

On airy coursers crowd.

Deep gash and scar their bodies mar—
They were a ghastly file;
And underneath the glittering casques
Their bleached skulls grimly smile.
With haughty mien they grasp their swords
Within their bony hands-

'Twould fright the brave to see them wave Their long and gleaming brands.

And at midnight, from the sullen sleep
Of death, the chief arose;
Behind him move his officers,
As slowly forth he goes.
His hat is small; upon his coat
No star or crest is strung;
And by his side a little sword-
His only arms-is hung.

The wan moon threw a livid hue
Across the mighty plain;
And he that wore the little hat
Stepped proudly forth again—
And well these grizzly warriors
Their little chieftain knew,

For whom they left their graves that night
To muster in review.

"Present-recover arms!" The cry Runs round in eager hum

I can tell 'tis January

When I meet her frosty glance, Warning lovers to be wary,

Though her chilly smiles entrance. And I know 'tis February

When, with manner milder grown (For the moods of maidens vary), Low she speaks in melting tone.

Then she sets a tempest brewing;
Signals 'neath the pretty arch
Of her brow the storm's undoing,
While her foot stamps Forward! March!
Next a sudden gleam of fun shines,
Followed by a burst of tears;

Then I see a ray of sunshine
Through her April hopes and fears.

Soon it rippled forth in laughter;

But so quiet and demure
Grows she, that, a moment after,
'Tis the May time, I am sure.
Now I see her, sweet and tender,

Sunny as the breath of noon;

In her cheeks bloom tints that lend her Roses to bespeak the June.

And I venture to caress her.

"Love, I love you so!" I sigh; And she smiles as I address her: "Love, I love you!" 'Tis July. Calm, warm skies are bright above her, Placid as the summer seas;

Quick my heart is to discover

Ne'er were August days like these.

But, alas! By Fate's devising,
Soon September frosts hold sway;
And a sudden gust uprising,

On its wings she flies away.
Under skies all brown and sober,
Fain I would a-hunting go
For the maid who makes October
Sport of me with "Yes" and "No."