the major portion of the officers, an eternal ex-broke forth, when arrived at the foot of the pulcitement of wine, rum and tobacco. One day it came to my turn of duty to accompany a battalion of my regiment to assist at some religious ceremony, which was celebrated every Sunday, in the most magnificent temple of Java, and consequently of Batavia. My comrades and I were ordered to appear in full regimentals, four places were reserved just under the pulpit of the preacher, the service was as usual gone through in the greatest silence,-after which the orator edified us with an eloquent sermon which he had prepared expressly for us. We had risen to go out, preferring to meditate in the open air, on the important lessons of morality which he endeavored to inculcate in us, when he requested us to again seat ourselves. This was complied with even by Buxton, although greatly against his desire. 66 pit, to afford some explanation of the affair, I found myself opposite a woman, who was crying out I am Margaret Floreff!" 66 "What! it was really she," said I interrupting Mr. Van Ostal, "it was really she-but how could it be the tomb erected to her memory at Calcutta-the body of Margaret Floreff removed to Amsterdam ?"— "It was and it was not," replied he. "And this woman, was she young, beautiful? iu fact was she as you had imagined her to be?" "She was frightful: awful to look on," answered Mr. Van Ostal-"really of an inconceivable ugliness, and that was the cause of the diabolical hilarity of that satanic Buxton.” The creation of my brain, the companion of my sleeping and of my waking hours was a perfect monster. Her husband then continued his recital. My brothers and sisters," said the preacher Mr. Van Ostal uttered these words in such a resuming his discourse, "a French captain has piteous tone, that I, who was only a spectator, a placed in my hands the sum of one thousand listener, felt myself utterly crushed, so great had pounds sterling, to distribute in charity, to pay been the interest I had taken in his recital. for and to raise a monumental tomb to two per- "Make yourself easy, sir," said Madame Van sons, whose names I will directly give you. It Ostal, "reassure yourself: the story is not yet is by Divine Providence that he has been entrust-finished." ed with this mission, which he has resigned to me, and with the particulars of which I now acquaint you. The true facts of this romantic piety are, that in the open sea, he found a bottle floating, on opening which he discovered one thousand pounds sterling in bank notes which he has handed over to me, and this paper," which the preacher then held up, "on which I found the following words:" "I, Louis Van Ostal, who am now about to perish from shipwreck at a distance of one hundred and fifty leagues from the island of Ceylon, do hereby give the one thousand pounds sterling which are enclosed in this bottle, to him or to those who, after having found it, will cause prayers to be said for me and for my well beloved, unknown, Margaret Floreff, and who will cause one monumental tomb to be raised to us both." "My brothers and my sisters," resumed the preacher, "let us then pray for this Louis Van Ostal." "Hold,” said I, interrupting him, by advancing to the pulpit, "I am Louis Van Ostal who wrote those lines, and surely I am not dead!" "It is well known," said Buxton to me, "that those who like you commence by pursuing the eagle of the ideal, always finish by catching the goose of disappointment. Your case is a deplorable proof of this. To follow across the seas, and even after death, a woman whom you know only in your dreams, and to arrive at what? to discover an old yellow toothless hag, who, horror of horrors, is not even dead!" I could not reply. Do you not see," he resumed, "where your stupid romance has led you to? and the effects of your absurd ideas, in looking on women as angels, when they have the same weaknesses, the same infirmities as ourselves." Still I did not answer. "Believe me," he continued, "and act on my advice. Marry some rich Creole, who will bring you as her dowry, plenty of pepper, plenty of cinnamon, plenty of tea-later she will bring you plenty of children. Take my advice, marry, let your brain, which is very soft, rest in peace, and give repose to your heart which is really too exciteable." Follow me and This time I answered him :let us go and see this woman." "What," he said, "you are not yet convinced." "No! there is so much improbability." "But since you say she is the lady in question." To give you any idea of the disorder and the excitement which this affair caused, in a church filled with the richest and most influential of the Dutch residents, and with the highest ladies of the aristocracy of Batavia is utterly impossible. But one thing I can tell you and that is, that above all the noise and confusion was to be heard "There can be no harm in hearing her explathe infernal boisterous laugh of Buxton, which nation a second time: besides I have had no op portunity of personally interrogating her." 66 But this public avowal." "What of that," answered I. bottle your last wishes and desires-later I join mine to them, under circumstances which occurred to me of a precisely similar nature. What "But if untrue, what object could she have happened then?" had in making it?" "I am utterly ignorant, but I have a presenti ment." "You are really incurable with your presenti ments-I am sure that you firmly believe, that you have to deal with some fairy, perhaps with the fairy Citron, the protectress of the natives: and that if spite of her dreadfully ugly legs, you fall at her feet, and that spite of her hideous arms, you kiss her hands, she will suddenly be transformed into a young and beautiful princess, who will be but too happy to reward your constancy, by a love worthy of reciprocating thine. My good friend, even the old nurses no longer believe in fairy tales, and children laugh at them. "Let us go and see this woman," said I. "I am ready, but do you know where she lives?" "Yes," replied I, "I have made inquiries." "I will follow you then-lead the way." CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. We went without loss of time to the woman, or rather to the sorceress, who on the Sunday preceding, had caused me to cut such a ridiculous appearance. Her habitation was very small and being in a very obscure part of the town, we had much difficulty in finding it. "Madam," said I, on at last entering her house, "I am Mr. Van Ostal, he, whose name the other day was mixed up with yours at the church service, where both of us had the honor of assisting. It must have seemed to you very strange, that one day, in a fit of madness, I should have taken the unpardonable liberty of wishing that prayers might be said for both of us and that our names should be inscribed on the same tomb." "Certainly it did, sir," replied she. I waited for her reply. "It happened," said she, "that the bottle in which you had placed the paper written by me, and the paper written by yourself is picked up by the captain of a French vessel”— “Oh! excuse me," interrupted I, “something else happened first." "What was it, sir?" "That your body was cast on the shore”— “But Madam having been dead,” chimed in Buxton with impurturbable gravity, "was of course ignorant of that circumstance." "She is then possibly ignorant," said 1, now thoroughly convinced that we had to deal with some adventuress," that she was buried"— The loud laugh of Buxton prevented me from completing my sentence. The woman saved me the trouble by saying— "Yes, buried at the cemetery at Calcutta!" Neither Buxton nor I laughed again. It was then she! “Ah, you know Madam that you were buried at Calcutta," said Buxton, "then of course you know where your skeleton now is-I do not speak of that one, which we now have the pleasure of addressing-but the original one." The woman looked at us both with an air of cool assurance, and then answered: "I repose in the cemetery of Amsterdam.” I was astounded! The atheist Buxton, trembled from head to toe. Understand me, Madam," said I, "no one is more disposed to believe in the supernatural than I am, but if you are dead”— "My God," answered she, "I am not dead, neither do I wish to be, but you question me so much on this matter that I must explain every thing to you. This Margaret Floreff," said this woman, in whom we felt at the moment such deep interest, "was not drowned in the Indian ocean. Daughter of a Dutch merchant, she tranquilly died in her bed at Calcutta. Her fa "But," resumed I, "if my conduct is extraor-ther whom she greatly loved, having been buried dinary, you must admit, Madam, that your posi- in the cemetery at Amsterdam, it was her wish tion is not the less so. You are wrecked-for to lie by his side—” you have been shipwrecked?" But who are you?" interrupted I, "you bear "Yes, sir, I have, in the Indian ocean two hun- the same name." dred leagues north of Madagascar." This exactness in her answer startled me, I must avow, for if she had not been shipwrecked, how could she so accurately know the topography of the ocean. "You are wrecked," I continued, "and at the moment, you are about to perish, you write on a slip of paper, which you carefully seal up in a "I am her niece and her adopted child." Buxton's eyes caught mine, and expressed his opinion that we should soon get at the facts of the case. There was no question that we had a Margaret Floreff before us, even if she were not the one we sought. I "Being her niece and her adopted child of course have to bear her name, and in strict justice I should also receive the one thousand pounds which you placed in the bottle." "Of course," said Buxton, "that is very likely." "But then perhaps we are not now speaking of the same person?" said I. "Of course I do not know to whom you allude." "Ah!" cried she, "I have here some let An imperative jest from me did not stop him ters from Margaret, and her portrait. You can from proceeding further. compare the two writings, and if they agree, why it must be her to whom you allude. I will get them for you out of the annoire directly.” Placing the two writings together my heart thrilled with joy at the confirmation of my hopes. "The portrait; where is the portrait?" said I impatiently. She placed the portrait in my hands. A cry of joy burst from me, and I could only say, "it is she!" "Do trait. "Then this," replied I, drawing forth the paper I had found in the bottle," is not your writing." I compared the two writings! "What beautiful eyes," said he "what expression in the face-what a forehead-what hands, what divine hands-I am in love with her myself, for like Byron, like Voltaire, I am an ar dent admirer of beautiful hands." In the fulness of my heart I embraced Buxton. The falsehood was discovered, and the cause The woman whose impudence I had exposed, of the falsehood would soon be discovered also. and whose attempt at imposition I had unveiled, The eyes of the unfortunate woman filled with exhibited better feelings than I could have imatears-she beat her head, and uttered but one gined. For giving me the portrait of Margaret word, "Poverty!" She then confessed that al- Floreff, she returned me the thousand pounds though her name was Floreff, that she was only which I had given her. a distant relation, and not the adopted daughter I kept the portrait, but insisted on her taking of her whose name was Margaret Floreff. When the money. she heard the preacher relate that the thousand CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. "You said, Madam, that Margaret Floreff came "Yes, sir." "Who accompanied her? Who was with her?" "She once lived." "And was she lost at sea?" "I never knew of any accident having happened to her at sea. When she arrived at Batavia where she did not long remain, she did not inform me of any accident having happened to her on the passage.” "Her father, who was inspector general of the "And how long is it since they left Batavia?" "About eighteen months," she said. 66 'Eighteen months! then it is evident that this shipwreck of which you was ignorant and of which you could have known nothing, must have occurred on her return-it must have happened then!" What a fate was mine-I had only found her to again lose her. "Where did she go to when she left Batavia? to Europe?" "No, sir, to South America-to Surinam." romance is now finished," and taking me by the board the Sumatra. We left the vessel to her arms he dragged me from the house. fate-she was named the Nicobar, Captain Van passengers and crew at the islands of Gama, whence a vessel of the Dutch East India Company conveyed them to Surinam. Only two persons were lost by the destruction of the vessel, the captain and a young lady, one of the passengers, who fell into the seas and were drowned in stepping into the boat." You have traced her," he said to her embar- Kessel, bound to Surinam. We landed the kation on her fatal voyage to Surinam, on which passage it is evident she must have been lost. You must now give up all hope of her, for the fishes and the sharks of the ocean, who have long since devoured her, will never again restore her to you. My poor friend, there is one more chance of tracing her, and to the last I will assist you." Buxton then led me to one of the finest edifices of Batavia, to the Marine office, where all vessels are obliged to deposit on their arrival a copy of their log books, and where the permits for sailing are granted. Buxton at once addressed himself to a friend of whom he had often spoken to me. "Do me the favor of informing me whether any of the vessels which sailed from here for Surinam eighteen months since, met with any disaster at sea?" Buxton's friend opened one of the ponderous folios, in which are inscribed the archives of the sea-he searched-he searched. "Surinam," cried he-"Surinam-here it isthere is a black cross in the index-one vessel was lost." Buxton grasped me firmly by the hand, and I could see tears rolling down his cheeks. "By what accident was she lost?" demanded he. Suppose that that young lady was Margaret Floreff: Oh! horror! "My sailing permit for Paramaribo, can I have it? Is it ready yet?" said a Dutch Captain interrupting me in the midst of my reflections. "Impossible to form any idea if all were lost," was the ocean, and its dangers? More especially was the reply. "But no, sir, it is not impossible," said the Secretary General, who having been close to us had heard all this conversation. "Turn to the page noted in the index, and ascertain the name of the vessel which arrived at Batavia with the news of her loss." 66 to us who were both young. Buxton fell entirely into my views, and we pursued the traces of the object of our search with the same ardor, as did Christopher Columbus, when he discovered America. He Four months after we sailed from Batavia we were sailing up the Guiana river. We landed Buxton's friend read aloud. The Albatross, without loss of time; I went on alone to SuriCaptain Boxwell, nothing-no intelligence: La nam; Buxton remained at Paramaribo. Fleche, Captain Verhagen, nothing, no report: wished to accompany me, but I would not perthe Dorade, Captain Ixel, nothing, not a word. mit him. I determined to go alone; alone thereThere, sir," interrupted I, "there: the Su- fore I went to the country house, where resided matra, Captain Suyers: read that, and rather the father of Margaret Floreff. The old negro let me read this extract from the Log Book:"- who gave me the information knew no more "Yesterday, at sundown, in crossing the Mal- than that Mr. Floreff had resigned his inspectordivean Archipelago, we perceived at five leagues ship and had entirely retired from public life. I distance from us, the group of islands named the arrived at the village-just such a one as we have Seven Brothers, bearing sixty leagues distant, a in Holland. I inquired for the house. I entervery large light which announced to us, without ed an avenue of orange trees. Oh! how my doubt, some extensive conflagration. Although heart did beat-how strangely was I agitated. the wind was nearly dead ahead, we tacked and I held in my hands a portrait-at the end of the retacked, with so much promptitude, that within avenue, I saw a young lady—it was she!" two hours we were along side of the burning vessel. We did not endeavor to save her-it I would have been a useless task. We directed all our attentions to saving the passengers and the crew, and succeeded in transporting them on Mr. and Madam Van Ostal had both risen from the table and had thrown themselves into each other's arms. Margaret Floreff was before me! So soon as Mr. Floreff had mastered his feel ings he rang the bell-a servant answered it-he gave him some orders in Dutch. "And Buxton!" said I, "what became of him?" "Oh! he is very happy-he is married, and has become a sincere christian." The door opened and the servant brought in a velvet cushion on which was placed a tortoiseshell box, profusely ornamented with gold and with precious stones. Mr. Van Ostal opened it. At the bottom of the box, covered with silk, was a bottle. "Open it, my dear," said Mr. Van Ostal to his wife, handing it to her. After calling her two children, Madame Van Ostal drew the cork from the bottle and turned it up, when a slip of paper fell from it. With flowing tears she read the lines which were traced on it: “I, Louis Van Ostal, who am now about to perish from shipwreck, at a distance of one hundred and fifty leagues from the Island of Ceylon, do hereby give the one thousand pounds sterling which are enclosed in this bottle to him, or to those who, after having found it, will cause prayers to be said for me, and for my well-beloved, unknown Margaret Floreff, and who will cause one monumental tomb to be raised to us both." After reading it Madame Van Ostal embraced her husband and her children, and said, "my dear husband, on such a day the poor must not be forgotten." The eglantine may bourgeon, bloom Upon a thousand hills, and dear The blossoms of the opening year Be to all hearts, and spring illume The valleys with ten thousand flowers,- They charm no more! since he has gone, XVII. The city stretches all around, And dimly comes the golden light And sway of trees (a sylvan sight) Thro' window-panes with dust embrown'd. This motley crowd that ever flows Toward the Bank, the Wharf, the Court, On ceaseless feet, the hurried port Of those who hasten ere the close Of money vaults to draw their goldAll shock the spirit and its dreams Fly to the woodlands and the streams In country dingies, shaded, cold. I find him not in any place Around me; only in the glance Of streams and leaves his countenance Comes to me,-grandeur mixed with grace Not of this world, and holy eyes Where melancholy slept at call Of thought her master:-crowning all A voice whose cadence never dies. |