solemn words in which he expressed his conviction that his end was near, and his wish to see me again before he died. "And after that, sir," he continued, "his time was short indeed: he gave me this key, with orders to hand it over to you in case you should not arrive in time to see him alive; and shortly after, another fit of convulsions came upon him, and soon all was over." There had been nothing of outward af fability in my guardian to command the affection of those about him, but these worthy servants had certainly a great regard for him. People could see that there was kindness in him, if it had not been repressed by his brooding melancholy; and if his deeds of positive goodness were not many, he at least did no actual wrong, and his very misery seemed to win upon the hearts of the few that witnessed it. There was one faithful mourner whom no persuasion could induce to leave his dead master's side; it was old Brian, the hound, who had shared for so many years his owner's gloomy solitude. As for me, I felt that I had lost my oldest and almost my only friend, who had been to me all that I had ever known of parent and protector. And sorrowful though my youth had been in that lonely house of his, and fearful as I had felt in his society, yet, now that he was gone, my heart refused to dwell upon all this, and I could only think of him with reverence and loving sympathy. him, and that honorable cognizance which, for centuries before, had been borne upon his shield. The last solemnities were celebrated, and the body of my deceased guardian was laid to rest in the family vault, among the relics of his buried ancestry. Every one recognized me as his successor, and I proceeded to examine the papers which he had left. The key that had been, by his direction, delivered to me, belonged to an escritoire in the library, which contained a large mass of documents of various kinds. First of all, I perceived a letter addressed to myself, on opening which, I read as follows: "My dear son, (for so I am pleased to call you, while I thank God on my bended knees that you are not so in reality,) as I am conscious that my life is not, and has not been for many years past, certain for a single day, I have long ago prepared my will, in which, as you will find, I have bequeathed all my little property to you. It has lost value greatly in my weak hands; in yours I hope it will prosper, and that it may give you the happiness which it is impossible it could ever confer on me. I wish that I could offer you some worthier recompense for the harm that I have done you, in casting the gloom of my unhappy presence upon the days of your boyhood and youth, which should naturally have been pleasant and joyous. I pray you to pardon me this wrong, and I doubt not that you will do so, when you have read in the papers inclosed herewith the story of my secret troubles. Ponder them well, and pity the misery of my life, and be thankful that I have no son to inherit from me the legacy of sorrow which I received. I have written this with my right hand, and I have written it with red ink. These papers will tell you why. And so your guardian bids you lovingly farewell." It did me good, when I came to look upon the corpse, to find that the expression of the features was milder and less mournful than I had ever seen them wear before. It would have been painful to me, if he had looked as gloomy in death as he had used to do, or if the convulsionfits had marred his countenance; but, as I looked upon him now, it seemed to me that he was at last set free from his long trouble. I had forgotten the hand which he had always kept so carefully covered, till, my eye falling upon it as it lay bare, I perceived that it was covered with a deep red stain, which marked the wrist also, and extended partly up the arm. The Bloody Hand-the Bloody Hand, which, living, he liked so ill to look upon, he bore it on his own person, as well as on that fearful coat-of-arms; and yet what relation could there be of power enough to make a life-time gloomy, between this mark which nature, in a freak, had branded on VOL. XLI.-NO. IV. The collection of papers contained in the escritoire formed a sort of journal; the chief subject of which was his own unhappy condition. Reflections on the nature of that mental trouble which weighed upon him; statements of its presumed cause; speculations as to how it would end-these were the points upon which he had written quires upon quires of manuscript. I read it all through with the greatest attention. The same ideas were repeated over and over again, 36 and the same facts stated, with a slight difference in language and detail; but there was no contradiction or incoherency; it was evident that he had written down his firm convictions. The great part of the writings-every thing in fact, which related to his own feelings, and to their cause-was written in red ink; and wherever he had occasion, in writing of other matters, to allude to these points, he had followed the same rule. So that, even in the midst of directions respecting his property, and other affairs of business, written with ordinary black ink, I often found a sentence or two concerning himseif gleaming out in bright red. From these documents, I discovered the mystery which had so long oppressed him; and the discovery astonished and sad dened me. I have compiled from the mass of materials a few extracts, as nearly in his own words as possible, which will serve to throw light upon what had been so dark to me, and so bitter to him. "I have had another of my solemn visitations; no doubt to remind me of that event which brought such a bane upon me. Small fear, indeed, that I should ever forget it, when it is branded on my soul in lines of fire-when it is the one great thought that, sleeping or waking, fills my whole mind. Yet I take a trembling interest in these unfoldings of the long past-these revelations from the spirit-world a world to me less strange than this material one, because I see more of its life and manners. I take a pleasure in looking on that scene which has come before me so much oftener of late, because I like to see how faithful my memory is; and as each incident in it comes before me, in the order which I could have predicted, I rejoice to find that it is chronicled in its proper place in my remembrance; and so, from the likeness which pervades the whole, I gather additional evidence that all is exactly true. It has often occurred to me that I would put down in writing the strange things which beset me, that I may leave to the world some excuse for that unamiable neglect with which I can not help treating it. I have just returned from that mysterious trance which periodically comes upon me, and I have seen again that vision (I call it by that term, though to me it is more tangible than aught else) that vision which will come ever and anon, as if to make sure that my mind still retains it. It is fitting, then, that I should fulfill my purpose now, and that I should pen my record with this my witnessing hand, the outward sign and seal upon my own body of the truth of what I write. And since I write of blood, and write it with a bloody hand, it is meet that the ink should be red, the hue which best befits the theme." "I saw it, as I have seen it a hundred times before. The light of a keen wintry morning; hoar rime covering every thing; icicles glittering in the faint sunbeam, keen, sharp, and lustrous; another glitter, keener, sharper, and more lustrous still, of a thousand sabers bared to the light of day. Everywhere a waving mass of people's heads; everywhere a restless murmuring of suppressed voices; all around eyes gleaming with painful expectation, and some tearful, as if with sorrow. A something standing forth on high before the throng, which gathers every gaze to itself, looking mournful and uncomely, and draped in funeral black; a sable block upon it, and a broad steel blade. So, then, there is murder afoot; there is strange work to be done; people are come to feast their eyes upon a brave spectacle; and we are to do honor to this forthcoming sacrifice. Let us be silent now, for the players come forth upon the stage-a man of kingly presence, and indeed a king; a priest in fair vestments; then one who hides his features with a mask a mask which baffles the myriad eyes which look inquiringly upon it, but to me it may as well have been a clear glass, so per fectly can I see through it. I know him, alas! too well: his name is my name; his family is my family; his honor is my honor; and his crime is mine. I, who live in the remote distance from him, who close up and finish the line which he now renders accursed-I long in vain to check this horrid deed, that I may avert the doom which I see suspended. I feel as if myself, now present to behold the crime, could look forward to myself in what appears a far-off future; and I protest against my masked kinsman, who will stain our race with blood. And "But the deed is done. There is a flood of crimson on the black carpeting, and a long-drawn sigh from that great multitude rises like a pitying spirit. man of our race since that day of terror has been oppressed with its transmitted woe. But I am the last of the race, and all the sorrow has been concentrated in me. I do not know that I have ever shed a drop of blood with my own hand Stoop, guilty kinsman, and take up the head of him whom thou hast offered up! Raise it high, that men may look upon its mild features, and see how placidly a man may meet with death. Drip-drip -drip-upon thy hand that grasps the axe beneath, I see it falling in large-I do not know that I have ever crushed drops, and fast, till it has wrapped it round and over like a crimson glove. Ay, we have looked our fill, and so take the sight away. Thou hast upon thy hand, and upon thy heart too, a stain so deep imprinted, that all thy years and labor will fail to make thee pure again." "My cruel kinsman again, but wearing a mask no longer; baring his unblushing brow in courts and palaces, and brave as any in the van of battle. He keeps his secret well, and never vaunts that ghastly deed which he wrought in the face of the wintry sun. The lips are sealed of the few who knew what features were then hid beneath the mask. But take away that bright steal gauntlet, which he wears both day and night. The tale is written there, plainly enough for him, in lines of blotted crimson. Wash it, as it may please him, in the holiest or most pungent water, he can not do it away. What wonder that the arm does not wither! Again !-and inquisition is made for blood; and some are hanged, and some are banished; but the true culprit, the man who acted the headsman so well, stands by, unknown and unsuspected. I said he had removed his mask; but he wears another now, for he smiles when his heart is very bitter, and his face is gay and gladsome, while in spirit he could gnash his teeth for very woe. If they knew the secret, guilty man, and wished to punish thee, they should let thee live on, with thy whole life a torture, a fear, and a lie." a fly-and yet my heart is burdened as if I had wrought the foulest murder. I feel as if, in some former state of being, of which that trace only remains upon my mind, I had done some deed dark enough to convulse the world with terror. So I bear the weight of my guilty kinsman's guilt. It has gathered force as it came down to me, and I must keep the accumulated burden, and pass with it to the grave: for I am the last of my race. And therefore these signs are given to me, which have not been given to my predecessors, and which link me in close relationship to that murderous ancestor of mine these visions which pass so of ten before my mind, in which that scene is constantly depicted; and this right hand of mine ingrained with blood, like that which raised the axe, and did the crime. The man who brought the curse, and the man in whom it ends-we, of all our line, are the likest to each other." This is all I think it necessary to quote from these papers. I leave it with those who are skilled in the psychological mysteries of human nature to determine the mental, or moral, or physical cause which produces these strange effects. I will only add, that, on searching through the records of the family, I found that there was some probable foundation for the visions which haunted my guardian's mind. The secret evidence was very strong that it was really an ancestor of his-a man of rank and influence in the Parliamentary army-who officiated as Charles I. There was, of course, no hisheadsman at the execution of King torical connection between this deed and the cognizance of the "bloody hand" upon the family coat-of-arms; but the evidence respecting the kinsman's share in the king's death my unhappy guardian had carefully collected and studied, and upon it he had built that belief which made his life a burden. Now he rests in peace, and that sore-troubled heart is no longer clouded with the shame and sorrow of the Bloody Hand. MAN is placed in a position which subjects him to the influence of two distinct controlling agencies-nature and society. All the principles which govern his thoughts and actions result from these, either alone or combined. Nature gives him an organic life, furnishes him with corporeal faculties, and endows him with reason. In the first stages of existence, there is no perceptible dissimilarity between the prince-born infant and the offspring of the peasant. It is only as these germs of existence progress onward, that we can discover the ever-varying features, forms, habits, propensities, and equally varied moral and intellectual endowments, which constitute that unmistakable individuality separating each being from all others. Leaving out those occasional organic defects which nature in all forms of animal like exhibits, being exceptions to the ordinary rules which govern the principles of life, the natural endowments of the human species are the same in all, differing only in degree. All have the organs of sight, of hearing, of taste, of feeling, and a capacity for reflection. It matters not whether it may be a power of thought to furnish the world with a Newton, or whether sufficient only to act as a guide in the most humble department of social life. There is enough intellect in the lowest grade of existence to rank both extremes in the same class, as distinctly as we place in the same species the fir, stunted and sickening in some stony, earthless dell, with those that crown in matchless beauty the snow-clad hills of Norway and Sweden. elements that surround the thatched roof of the cottage are the same as those which encircle the battlements of the towering palace. But look into those dark alleys in the densely-peopled city-those dens that intersect almost every locality of the huge metropolis. So narrow is the entrance, that like the path to some secret rendezvous through a subterraneous entrance, two can not traverse it side by side; whilst masses of lofty buildings on all hands render these abodes of human beings as impervious to the rays of the sun as the den of ancient banditti. See those children in the court, how ragged, dirty, pale, and emaciated they appear. Surrounded by an atmosphere which comes not from on high, as does the pure light of heaven on the flower-enameled field, but polluted with vapors effluxed from all that is unsightly and impure; what wonder this should be the abode of sickness and fever; that helpless babes and children should perish in the bud of existence, in a ratio unknown where the light and health-inspiring breath of heaven uninteruptedly descend to earth. This huge mortality in the entrance to life is not God's work, nor is it destiny, meaning God in another form. Human laws are too often opposed to the divine, and will so continue, till the unclouded light of intellect shall have framed human institutions on the broader basis of nature's universal laws-yet, despite all human imperfections, nature's dictates can be but imperfectly frustrated. So benevolent are they, that notwithstanding the deformities of social life, they rise above all obstructions, and assert an indisputable claim, in executing their high and benign commission. Nature is ever bounteous, and bestows her greatest and most needed blessings alike on all, however her purposes may One of these prominent blessings, which be temporarily, and in detail, frustrated no laws, no contingencies can annihilate, by the laws which govern society. The is sleep. It is the precious endowment bequeathed to all forms of sentient existence, blessing all, and cursing none. It answers purposes valuable alike in health and sickness, in prosperity and adversity. In every form misery assumes, nature administers this precious balm. See that care-worn traveler, wandering through the village at eventide, with feeble voice asking alms. He, perhaps, was once happy, blest with a home, surrounded by friends, loved and caressed. How sad a fall is that for man. It is a height from which all the fallen do not fall, for there are some of the world's scorned and neglected ones who never felt the warmth of human kindness-whose parents died ere thought was formed-who have been left inthe wide world unprotected and uncared for, and whose childhood was as unblest as their riper years. Then does the world's scorn lose half its bitterness, because faith in man has never grown and flourished-no friends have been tried and found flying like a shadow at the touch of adversity. But here is a soul alive to sorrow and remorse, wandering about unprovided with a shelter for the coming night. Every form that crosses his path seems to mock and despise him. Happy children busied with their frolics, and reveling in happiness, and shouting with joy, awaken in his mind a thousand recollections of by-gone days, when he, too, had boon-companions, and bright hopes, and an undimmed fu ture. for misery, nor from the wretched takes It is midnight, and the setting moon There is no grief so deep rooted, no suffering so acute, but the universal blessing of sleep can relieve. Even the wretched, brutalized slave, bent down with incessant toil, living only to feed the avarice, or perhaps to minister to the yet deeper crimes of some reckless tyrant, is not forgotten in the distribution of this precious endowment. Without this boon, in vain would cruelty and extortion in their worst forms wring from the slave his daily toil. In vain would the dealer in human blood lash and goad his victims, did he attempt to stay this benign visitor. He sits down on the tufted bank, and listens thoughtfully to the hum of merriment, and the jocund peals of laughter, and pictures again the scenes of his happy boyhood-the evening pastimes the open-hearted friends, and the happy home that awaited him, when the shadows of night told of the swiftness of hours happily spent. Amid such recollections he rises from his resting-place, and his own position, wretched and penniless, again confronts his consciousness and confounds his reason, and he wanders on with no better In man's greatest extremities, in his wish than to perish from the earth. But hour of deepest need, how often does memory must yet drink down another bit-heaven interpose and claim a cessation ter draught. He meets the happy village couple, full of joy, and love, and hope; and memory, as though in very mockery, pictures to him again the time when he too loved and was beloved. Then the very thought of life becomes burdensome, and hurrying to the nearest hovel, with agonizing reflections sinks down on his litter of straw. But heaven has yet a boon from misery. Pain, excruciating and in- T |