Page:Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper Vol. 18.pdf/119

] than brotherly affection? I confess the fancy charms me, for my own loveless life has been so bare of romance, I am ready to find interest and pleasure in another man's experience, while the mystery which surrounds the strange youth and my relations with him make it doubly alluring. As I rose to return to my work the act seemed to rouse him; approaching the table he carefully selected a cake and fruit, filled a glass with iced claret, and arranging them on a silver salver, added a handful of flowers from a vase near by, and carried it away, saying, with a half-sad, half-mirthful look:

"Madame likes me to wait on her, and is as fond of delicate attentions as a girl."

Till nearly five I wrote, then dressed for dinner, and when summoned found my host and hostess waiting for me. A well-appointed table, a well-served meal, and one occurrence at its close are all that is necessary to record of this episode. Noel sat beside his cousin, waiting on her with a quiet devotion beautiful to see. Pierre hovered about both with a respectfully protective air, which became the venerable servant who seemed to eye me rather jealously, as if he feared a rival in his young master's confidence. It was a silent meal, for Noel was not loquacious, and madame seemed sad. I did my best, but the rôle I had taken was not one to allow of much conversation, and long pauses followed short dialogues.

We were just rising when Pierre entered, bringing a basket of hothouse flowers, which he delivered to his master, with the message:

"For madame, with Mrs. St. Michael's compliments."

Madame uttered no thanks, made no gesture of pleasure, but every particle of color faded from her face as she seemed to listen for Noel's answer. He too was paler, and the hand extended for the basket trembled visibly, yet he answered with unwonted animation:

"She is very kind; cousin, I will take them to your room for you. Mr. Clyde, I have an engagement for this evening; but drawing-room, library, and lawn are at your service."

"The last shall be first, thank you, and I will enjoy the sunset out-of-doors."

With that I took myself away; Pierre closed the door behind me, and as I turned into the passage to my rooms I fancied I heard the click of a key turning in the lock. I got my hat, passed out at one of the long windows of my little parlor, and strolled toward the lawn along the terrace which lay close before the house. My steps were noiseless on the turf, and as I passed the windows of the dining-room I snatched a hasty look, which showed me the basket overturned upon the floor, madame with her shade at her feet and her face hidden in her hands, Mr. Noel reading a letter aloud, and Pierre listening intently, with a napkin still over his arm.

They did not see me, all being absorbed, and with my curiosity still further piqued, I wearied myself with conjecture as I surveyed the exterior of the house, the occupants of which already inspired me with such interest.

A rambling English cottage in a nest of verdure. A lawn slopes to the road in front, a garden lies behind, a lane runs parallel with the garden-wall on the right, and a grove of pines rises soberly against the sky upon the left.

Curious to locate the room of the unknown, I struck into the lane, scrutinizing the left wing as I walked. To my surprise, no upper windows appeared. An ancient grape-vine covered the western wall, trained away from the lower casements, but completely masking the space above and wandering over half the roof. Looking closer, I soon discovered a large aperture in the roof, half-hidden by the leaves; the sash evidently lowered from within, and this explains the flood of sunshine and the odorous gust that floated down the stairway which I now long to mount. Having looked till my eyes ached, I roamed away into the fields which lie between the solitary cottage and the town.

As I came up the avenue on my return Mr, Noel passed me, driving rapidly; he did not see me, for his hat was pulled down low upon his forehead, but his mouth looked grim, his whole figure erect and resolute. I watched him out of sight, went in and read for an hour, then to my room and secret diary. It is past midnight now, but Mr. Noel has not yet returned.

—Found the young gentleman in his alcove, and my work laid ready when I went to the study this morning. He looked up and answered my salutation as I entered, then seated himself behind his curtain, and I saw no more of him for an hour. At the end of that time the perfect silence that reigned in the recess arrested my attention, and caused me to suspect that he had slipped away through the window. I was just meditating a peep, when accident supplied me with a genuine excuse. A little gust of air blew in from the garden, rustling the papers on his table; one was wafted beyond the curtain, and almost to my feet. I waited a moment for him to reclaim it, but nothing stirred, and quite sure that he was gone, I examined it. A closely covered sheet, written in Italian, it proved to be, and a moment's inspection showed me that it was a part of the work I was copying, though in a different and bolder hand. Stepping to the recess to restore it, I was startled by discovering Mr. Noel asleep in his chair. Very worn and tired he looked, though younger than ever in his sleep; on the page upon his desk lay drops that looked like tears. Seeing that his slumber was deep, I ventured to look well about me. The half-written sheet on which his pen still lay, as it dropped from his drowsy hand, was a translation of the very page I held. Others lay on the table, and in the cabinet which now stood open I spied three piles of MS. A hasty glance showed me the missing chapters copied in his graceful hand, a heap of blurred and hasty translation, and a worn, stained MS. in the same bold writing, the same language as the truant leaf. Farther I dared not look, but crept back to my seat, and fell to wondering why the boy wrote in Italian, and suffered no one to translate it but himself. Were he other than he is, I should suspect him of a literary theft, or some double dealing with another's work. But Bernard Noel seems incapable of deceit, and his look, his manner when speaking of it, assure me that it is rightfully his own, whatever his reasons may be for so laborious a process. My reflections were suddenly interrupted by hearing him rouse, and seeing him pull aside the curtain to ascertain if I was there. He looked half-bewildered by sleep, but began to collect the papers, carefully arranged them in the cabinet, locked it, and stepped out into the garden, where I saw him pacing thoughtfully to and fro for half an hour. That was the last of him for to-day, for he and madame dined at the St. Michaels, as Pierre informed me when five o'clock found me the sole partaker of an excellent dinner. They returned at nine, and the invisible musician has been singing for an hour.

.—For four days nothing has occurred worth recording, as I have been almost entirely alone. Mr. Noel hands me a chapter or two each morning, receives my copy at night, and only the necessary directions are asked and given. Madame has not been visible, ill I am told, yet her cousin looks tranquil, and no nurse or physician has been summoned to my knowledge. Very brief and silent are our interviews at dinner, and not once have I found the drawing-room occupied of an evening. No one calls, but Mr. Noel drives out often and returns late. My days have been spent at the writing-table, my evenings in my own room, or solitary walks about the country. Returning from one of these, I saw the window under the vines brilliantly lighted, and resolved to satisfy my curiosity the first moonless night. This ends my first week's record; I trust it is satisfactory, and that out of my own darkness I have given light.

—To-day, being Sunday, I asked Mr. Noel, when I met him at lunch, in which of the three truth churches, over the hill, I should find his pew.

"In none; I go nowhere just now. My cousin cannot, and I join her in a little service here at home," he said, slowly; adding instantly, as if afraid I should expect to be included in that domestic service: "My friend, Mrs. St. Michael, will be happy to do the honors of her husband's chapel. I have spoken to her, and she expects you." I thanked him, went to church, found the pastor a dull preacher, though apparently an excellent and pious gentleman; his wife a grave, motherly lady, who received me with courtesy, examined me with interest, and, as we came out together, asked me how I liked her neighbors.

"Mr. Noel seems an eccentric but most charming young man, and madame a wonderfully cheerful sufferer," I replied.

"Genius has many privileges, and eccentricity is one, you know," replied the lady, adding, rather guardedly: "Madame Estavan is younger than she seems, and manifold afflictions cannot wholly darken her bright spirit. May I trouble you to give my regards to her, and tell Mr. Noel I will see him to-morrow?"

At dinner I delivered the messages; Mr. Noel turned graver than before on receiving his, and madame turned gay. I was glad to see her so, and did my best to interest her, observing that her cousin often took the word from her lips, and that Pierre's usually expressionless face wore an aspect of uneasiness. In drawing out her handkerchief madame dropped an ebony rosary. No one heard it fall, for it slipped noiselessly through the folds of her dress, and no one saw it but myself. Pierre was busy at the side-board, and, stooping, I lifted and returned it to her. She received it with the exclamation:

"Ciel! How careless I am grown! I thought I put it by after mass."

"Madame is a Catholic, one sees."

The words slipped from me involuntarily, her answer seemed to do the same.

"Oh, yes; in truth I am, and so is"

A heavy silver fork clanged down into Mr. Noel's plate, and madame started at the clatter, leaving her sentence unfinished.

"Pardon, cousin; if you are forgetful, I am awkward. You were about to say, 'and so is Pierre.'" Noel spoke quite naturally, but I suspect madame caught some warning for the color mounted to her forehead as she eagerly assented.

"Surely, yes. Whom else could I mean? Not you, my too-Protestant and English Bernard."

Poor lady, she overdid the matter sadly, and that anxious emphasis upon the words "Protestant" and "English" convinced me that Noel was neither, though but for this I never should have suspected it. As if anxious to banish it from my mind, he led the way to the drawing-room, and, as all madame's spirits had departed, exerted himself to entertain us both. In conversation I found him witty, earnest, and frank, but in the midst of an animated description of foreign life he checked himself, and going to the grand piano, gave us fragments from the sacred music of the great masters, with an ease and brilliancy that captivated me. I was heartily enjoying this treat when, as if doomed to make scenes, madame suddenly gave a loud cry, and darted out upon the lawn, exclaiming:

"He has come! Mon pére! Mon pere!"

For an instant Noel stared aghast, then sprang after her, looking as wild as she. I followed to the terrace, and standing there, heard, through the stillness of the twilight, madame sobbing and her cousin chiding. He spoke Italian, but low and rapid as were his words, I caught them brokenly.

"I cannot trust you—you have no control of face, voice, mind or manner. You knew it was impossible—he cannot come for weeks yet—I will have no more of this."

"Forgive me. It is this life which destroys my nerves; it is unnatural. I cannot bear it. Let it end for me," sobbed madame.

"It shall," almost sternly answered he. "Rest content, I will ask no more of you; it is selfish, unwise. I can bear and do alone; you have suffered enough."

"It is not that; it is the suspense, the deceit, the danger that dismays me. I can act no part. Send me away for a little; you will be freer, happier, safer, without me, as you know."

"I shall, and so will you. To-morrow St. Michael will receive you and a few weeks will end all. Now compose yourself, go to your room, and leave me to explain your flight to Clyde."

"I slipped round to the hall door and met him there with, I flatter myself, well-acted concern. Madame passed me with a murmured:

"Monsieur, I have known loss, it haunts me; forgive the malady of a broken heart."

Noel gave her into the charge of a grave, elderly woman, whom I now saw for the first time, and who came hurrying up with Pierre. As she departed the old servant hastily explained that it was he who had peeped and startled madame.

"Then madame is not wholly blind?" I asked, quickly, for there he paused and looked confused. Noel answered, tranquilly:

"It is only a partial loss. You may go, Pierre; you are forgiven. But let us have no more of this, for madame's sake."

The old man gladly withdrew, and his master added, as I bade him good-night:

"My cousin needs change. I shall take her to town tomorrow. We have friends there, and her state demands better care than I can give her. We shall leave early, but I will prepare matters for you, as I shall not return till late."

A long sigh of relief broke from him as he turned away, and, on my soul, I pitied; for it is my belief that madame is not only a little mad, but some refugee whom he is befriending, and who, in spite of gratitude, finds it hard to lead a life of concealment under the same roof with some fair, frail lover of this fascinating boy.

the present interest attending the movements of Gen. Banks, our readers will view with pleasure the group of the General and his staff, from a strikingly good photograph of Jacobs, of New Orleans. Of Gen. Nathaniel P. Banks, the General commanding the department of the Gulf little need be said. The bobbin-boy who steadily rose by his own efforts to the highest rank in Congress, who, as a General, has displayed many high qualities and deserved success, is too well known to need a sketch here.

Brig.-Gen. Charles P. Stone, his Chief of Staff, is an old army officer, a native of Massachusetts, who entered West Point in 1841, and after acting as professor there till 1846 won distinction and promotion at Molino del Bey and Chapultepee. He is in the regular service Colonel of the 14th infantry, and till recently was Brigadier-General, having been appointed May 17, 1861, although recently mustered out.

He commanded at Ball's bluff, and was then confined in Fort Lafayette for many weary months, to be at last discharged, untried, unheard and uncondemned.

Brig.-Gen. A. S. Lee, the Chief of Cavalry, led the van in the first of the three days' fights.

Brig.-Gen Richard Arnold, Bank's Chief of Artillery, was a cadet in 1846, and in 1850 entered the service as Brevet Second Lieutenant in the 1st artillery, and became a First Lieutenant in 1854. He is now a Captain in the 5th artillery, his commission dating from May 14, 1861.

Lieut. Col. William Stretch Ahert, a son of Col. J. J. Ahert, became Second Lieutenant in the 4th artillery, June 18, 1885, and First Lieutenantl [sic] March, 1857. On the 14th of May, 1861, he was made Captain in the 6th cavalry, and holds the position of Inspector-General, with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.

Col. E. G. Beckwiib, the Chief Commissary, was a cadet in 1838, and in 1842 entered the 2d artillery; in 1846 he rose to the grade of First Lieutenant, and became Captain in 1855. He has held the rank of Colonel on the staff since 1862.

Col. Clark was appointed an additional Aide-de-Camp, with the rank of Colonel, Nov. 18, 1861.

Major Guido Normen Lieber, a son we believe of the celebrated professor, is by birth a South Carolinian, but was appointed from New York in May, 1861, First Lieutenant in the 11th infantry.

Major Richard H. Alexander, the Medical Director, is an experienced army surgeon, whose commission dates back over a decade.

Col. James Grant Wilson is a gentleman of fine education, who previous to the war edited a paper at Chicago. Since it began he has published a volume comprising biographical sketches of the Illinois officers.

The other members of the staff are Major Von Sherman, A. D. C.; Lieut. Charles E. Sargent, S. B. Holabird, Chief Quartermaster; Capt. J. S. Crosny, A. D. C.; Capt. William B. Boe, Chief Signal Officer; Lieut.-Col. George W. Stipp, Medical Inspector; and Capt. Charles L. Bulkley, Chief of Military Telegraph.

All accounts attest the splendid conduct of the staff of Gen. Banks on the field, Col. Wilson and Col. Clark being specially mentioned.



is not an attractive subject, but we give our readers a view of Plymouth, N. C., made by an officer during a stay of more than a year at that post, which has now been, in a manner so disgraceful to our arms, wrestled from us.

Plymouth is eight miles south of Boanoko river, and is connected with Albemarle sound by a small inlet called Nag's Head. It had, in ohter days, a population of about 1,000, and was rapidly increasing in trade.

Nothing can be more disheartening than the disasters at Plymouth. The Navy Department had long been aware that the rebels were building a formidable ram on the Roanoke. When at last Plymouth was menaced by an immense force on land and the ram was known to be descending the river, the Bombshell, an old Erie canal boat, was sent to meet her. A rebel land battery, by sinking her, saved her from being run down by the ram Albemarle. The latter came down stealthily under the shadow of the bank and ran into the Southfield, a Staten Island ferryboat, sinking it in ten minutes after her formidable serrated prow crushed through its sides.

The Miami, Capt. Flusser, lay alongside, and the commander, who had been actively shelling the rebels ashore, sighted and fired a gun at the Albemarle, but it rebounded in fragments from the sloping side, killing Flusser himself.

Capt. Flusser is a loss to the service, for he was an active, energetic officer, and had prepared with his scanty means to do all that he could in the emergency. It was his intention to connect two boats firmly together, by means of chains and spars, and seek the encounter by advancing against the ram, aiming to strike her between both vessels and force her against the shore. At the same time a torpedo was to be so arranged as to cast it into her smoke stack, but owing to the circumstances beyond his control, the arrangements were not executed. After his fall several steel-pointed shot were fired at the ram, but all failed to pierce her well armored sides.

, recently wounded in the battles in the Bed river country, was born at Norwich, Vt., Nov 29, 1834, being a son of the gallant Col. T. B. Ransom, 8th U.S. infantry, who fell at Chapultepoe, and then who had, in his military school, trained many to the career of arms.

After completing his education, young Ransom removed to Pern, Ill., in 1851, and began life as an engineer, but gradually became an operator in res-estate. When the war broke out he raised a company in Fayette county, where he resided, and on its incorporation into the 11th Illinois was elected Major. The regiment during its three months' service was stationed near Cairo and at Bird's point. When it was reorganized for three years Ransom was made Lieutenant-Colonel, and as the Colonel, the late Gen. W. H. L. Wallace, was generally acting as Brigadier, the command of the regiment devolved on Ransom. On the 23d of August he defeated a rebel force under Major Hunter, at Charleston, Mo., receiving a severe wound in the shoulder. At Fort Donelson he again led his regiment into action and was again wounded. His services had prostrated him, and for a long time he could accompany his men only in an Ambulance, but he would not leave them.

He was then made Colonel, and at Pittsburg landing was again in command, and though wounded in the head early in the day, would not retire, and by his gallantry received the highest recommendation. Gen. Grant and Gen. Mc.Clernand recommended his appointment as Brigadier-General, and he was raised to that rank Nov 29, 1862. He was Chief of Staff to Gen. McClernand and Inspector-General of the Army of the Tennessee, and next in command of the district of Cairo.

In the siege of Vicksburg he commanded a brigade and led it at Champion's hill and the other preliminary battles, and in the attack made on the rebel warks, in May, 1863. After the surrender he was sent to Natobcz, in July, where he broke up the supply system of the rebel army.

He has since been engaged in the Bed river expedition, and, as we have seen, has for the fourth time come wounded from the field, having been struck down by a Minié ball in the knee while directing the fire of the Chicago battery, on the second day's fight.



, now at the head of a fine artillery regiment, for which he recruited so successfully as to obtain nearly double the number required, is a native of New York city, born about 1832. On reaching manhood he became connected with the 5th company of the National Guard. Removing to St. Louis, he there was equally active in military matters and raised a militia company. When the President, in 1861, called for volunteers, he raised and drilled a company in St. Louis, but seeing little chance of service there he returned to New York and was at once chosen Captain of Co. A, 9th New York State Militia, and served with it through Gen. Patterson's campaign. After this he returned to New York and organized a light battery, with which as Captain he joined the 3d New York artillery, and fought under Gen. Barnside and Gen. Hooker through the North Carolina campaigns, distinguishing himself at Kingston, Whitehall and Goldsbore. At the latter place his battery was charged upon by three South Carolina regiments, whom he repulsed with a loss of over 700 men. His regiment was next sent to South Carolina, to reinforce Gen. Huster, and while there Capt. Morrison was selected to return to New York and raise a new Artillery regiment. He was commissioned Colonel of the 16th, and is now in command of it at Gloucester point Va. He actually has 1,800 men, but his regiment is to be reduced to 1,100, the rest being assigned to other regiments.



attempts have been made from time to time to reduce the horribly confused arthography of our language to some system and method. Ormin, author of a metrical paraphrase of the New Testament, who lived in the 13th century, wrote a work on a simple but most admirable phonetic system of his own, the principal feature of which is that the consonant after a short vowel is inevitably doubled. No writer was noted after Ormin until the middle of the 16th century, when several arose to draw attention to the great and growing evil of a corrupt orthography.

Sir John Checke, "who first taught Cambridge, and King Edward, Greek," and Sir Thomas Smith were the two first to attempt a reform; but the latter far outstripped the former in his work Derecta et emendata Linguæ Anglicæ Scriptione Dialogus, published at Paris, in 1668. In 1860 was published the "Alvearle, or Quadruple Dictionarie," of John Baret, which contains many very valuable observations upon the imperfections of our alphabet, &c; in one part Baret says: "Some sluggish had perchance (which would have all men sleepe with him quietlie in sloth and securitie, becaus he would not have his idloneese espied) will saie I am too curious about orthographie, and what need I beat my braine about so fruteles and trifling a metter; other come that wallowe in wealth and being in some fat office of writing have filled their barnes and bagges with old orthographie, say all is well enough, and that it is impossible to amend it, and but follie to go about to make it any better."

The names of John Hart, William Bullokar, Richard Mulcater, Richart Stanyburt, Peter Bales, Alexander Hume, Alexander Gil, alexander Top, Ben Jonson, Rev. Charles Butler, Richard Hodges, Owen PRice, Bishop Wilkins, William Holder, Francis Lodwick, John Byron, John Jones, Thomas Crampe, Dean Swift, James Elphinstone, Benjamin Franklin, Joshua Steele, Joseph Elison include all the subsequent reformers.

However, all other attempts at change sink into insignificance before the standard of revolt raised by John Pinkerton. Of him De Quincey says: "The monster Pinkerton proposed a revolution which would have left us nothing to spell." He proposed the letter "a" as a plural termination in place of "s," thus "pena" for "pens," "papera" for "papers;" the accented "é" for "y" final in all substantives; the "i" for "y" in all adjectives.

we hear a novice playing the organ, we think that the instrument has one step too few.