CHAPTER IX. AT "THE GOLDEN GRIFFIN." Captain Edmund Ducie was one of the first to emerge from the wreck. He crept out of the broken window of the crushed-up carriage, and shook himself as a dog might have done. "Once more a narrow squeak for life," he said, half aloud. "If I had been worth ten thousand a-year, I should infallibly have been smashed. Not being worth ten brass... more...

CHAPTER V. AT ROSE COTTAGE. On regaining my senses I found myself in a cozy little bed in a cozy little room, with an old gentleman sitting by my side gently chafing one of my hands—a gentleman with white hair and a white moustache, with a ruddy face and a smile that made me all in love with him at first sight. "Did I not say that she would do famously in a little while?" he cried, in a... more...

CHAPTER XVIII. JANET IN A NEW CHARACTER. On entering Lady Chillington's room for the second time, Janet found that the mistress of Deepley Walls had completed her toilette in the interim, and was now sitting robed in stiff rustling silk, with an Indian fan in one hand and a curiously-chased vinaigrette in the other. She motioned with her fan to Janet. "Be seated," she said, in the iciest... more...

CHAPTER XIV. DRASHKIL-SMOKING. "It must and shall be mine!" So spoke Captain Ducie on the spur of the moment as he wrote the last word of his translation of M. Platzoff's MS. And yet there was a keen sense of disappointment working within him. His blood had been at fever heat during the latter part of his task. Each fresh sentence of the cryptogram as he began to decipher it would, he... more...

CHAPTER XXII. MR. MADGIN AT THE HELM. Mr. Madgin's house stood somewhat back from the main street of Eastbury. It was an old-fashioned house, of modest exterior, and had an air of being elbowed into the background by the smarter and more modern domiciles on each side of it. Its steep, overhanging roof and porched doorway gave it a sleepy, reposeful look, as though it were watching the on-goings of... more...

SHAKSPEARE'S ART.   "Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art,  My gentle SHAKSPEARE, must enjoy a part.  For though the poet's matter Nature be,  His Art doth give the fashion."—Ben Jonson. Whoever would learn to think naturally, clearly, logically, and to express himself intelligibly and earnestly, let him give his days and nights to WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. His ear will thus... more...

THE CARNIVAL OF THE ROMANTIC. Whither went the nine old Muses, daughters of Jupiter and the Goddess of Memory, after their seats on Helicon, Parnassus, and Olympus were barbarized? Not far away. They hovered like witches around the seething caldron of early Christian Europe, in which, "with bubble, bubble, toil and trouble," a new civilization was forming, mindful of the brilliant lineage of... more...

AN AMERICAN IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS. Having in a former number of this magazine attempted to give some account of the House of Commons, and to present some sketches of its leading members, I now design to introduce my readers to the House of Lords. Atlantic Monthly for December, 1861. It is obviously unnecessary to repeat so much of the previous description as applies to the general external and internal... more...

DAILY BEAUTY. Toward the end of a city morning, that is, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Stanford Grey, and his guest, Daniel Tomes, paused in an argument which had engaged them earnestly for more than half an hour. What they had talked about it concerns us not to know. We take them as we find them, each leaning back in his chair, confirmed in the opinion that he had maintained, convinced... more...

THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY. I suppose that very few casual readers of the "New York Herald" of August 13th observed, in an obscure corner, among the "Deaths," the announcement, "NOLAN. DIED, on board U.S. Corvette Levant, Lat. 2° 11' S., Long. 131° W., on the 11th of May: Philip Nolan." I happened to observe it, because I was stranded at the old Mission-House in Mackinac,... more...