University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

While the events we have chronicled were
taking place in the western hemisphere, the gallant
ship which conveyed Clifton from his native land
had arrived at Liverpool, after a tedious passage,
whence he proceeded to the great metropolis of the
British empire.

As the shores of his beloved country receded from
his view, his lonely and desolate situation arose
vividly before him, and, descending to the state-room,
he threw himself into his berth in an agony
of grief. As the passing days winged their flight
to join the countless throng that had preceded them,
the poignancy of his feelings abated, but sufficient

gloom remained to prevent any approach to familiar
intercourse with his fellow-passengers, all of whom
attributed his reserve to bodily illness and debility.

But it is not in human nature, more especially
in youth's blooming season, to brood long over even
the most serious calamities. That elasticity of spirit
which is vouchsafed to the youthful voyager on
life's tempestuous ocean, will ensure a rebound from
the most intolerable pressure. The sorrowful Clifton,
whose prospects for the future were so cruelly
blasted, felt sensibly the change from the monotony
and confinement of a ship's cabin to the free and
invigorating air of his father-land; nor could the
varied specimens of human character, and the attractive
objects, both animate and inanimate, which
continually arrested his attention, fail to dissipate
a portion of the grief that preyed on his spirit.

As the mail coach, in which he was a passenger,
entered the suburbs of that mighty city, which has
been not inaptly compared to Babylon the Great, in
the zenith of its power and splendour, the evening
shadows began to darken the horizon; but the time
that intervened between the first evident approaches
to London, and the arrival of the coach at the tavern
where it put up, afforded some clew to the magnitude
of the vast emporium. The soft clear light of
the full moon, as she pursued her course in cloudless
majesty—like the departed spirit of the just in its
flight to brighter spheres—threw its witchery around
every object on which it fell, awakening in the bosom

of Clifton the dormant romance of his nature,
and soothing, if not entirely banishing, for the moment,
the memory of past sorrows and the anticipation
of those which were in prospect. As the coach,
with its wearied occupants, passed through the
streets of the crowded mart, the bold outline of
many a specimen of architecture of a by-gone age,
threw its shadow across their path; while at intervals
some huge pile of masonry lifted its Titan form
against the sky, giving the vivid imagination of
Clifton a wide range of conjecture in tracing the
eventful scenes of which its antiquated halls had
probably been the witness.

Although born and bred in a populous and extensive
city, yet its contrast in form and magnitude
with that which he was now entering, was peculiarly
striking and impressive. In his native city,
the few ancient buildings owning a Dutch origin,
which had survived the last century, were already
sacrificed to the spirit of innovation and improvement,
until modern taste had moulded its erections
almost into uniformity of model, although in magnitude,
finish, and quality of material, they were
widely variant.

London, on the contrary, presented the singular
aspect of an enormous Mosaic tablet, in which all the
different specimens of ancient and modern architecture,
were so blended as to produce a striking and
picturesque, if not beautiful effect.

Although these obvious reflections did not occur to

Clifton, until the arrival of day-light and more extensive
observation had exhibited the great city in
its general aspect, yet sufficient was seen on his first
entrance to create a desire for a more minute survey
of the various objects which were dimly distinguished
in the moonlight.

Not withstanding the temporary relief the sights
and sounds of the city had afforded to his wounded
spirit, yet no sooner had he attained the quiet of his
lonely couch, than busy memory recalled the sorrowful
images of the past in all their primeval horrors,
banishing sleep from his eyelids, and renewing pangs
that had for a time been steeped in forgetfulness.
In vain he attempted to reason away his fears and
regrets. Despair, with raven wing, hovered grimly
over the future, and disgrace, misery, and banishment
stalked, ghost-like, in the distance.

Who that was interested in his welfare had any
clew to the mystery which veiled the true history
of his past conduct? Not one! His foster-father
could of course know nothing of the parties, whose
machinations had disgraced him in the eyes of the
world, and except him, his wife, and Julia, there
were none in the wide world on whose attachment
he could rely. And could he really rely on Julia's
fidelity and affection? Would not the opinion of
the world at length overthrow even the confidence
she reposed in his innocence? Was he even certain
that she believed his solemn asseverations?
These were questions that occurred to his mind day

after day, and received replies as various and contradictory
as were the changing phases of his mind
and feelings. At times all was hope and confidence—and
again all was doubt and despair.

Such is human nature!—ever distrustful of the
goodness of Providence, when imagination tyrannizes
over the reason and judgment. The night at
length was past, and the dawn of day served somewhat
to tranquillize his agitated mind. As he arose
and prepared to mix with the busy throng, his native
firmness of character began to re-assume its
sway, and he determined to make a strenuous effort
so to apportion and employ his time that as little
space should be left to solitary reflection as was practicable.

During his leisure-hours in New-York, he had
successfully cultivated his talent for literary composition,
both in prose and verse, and his friends had
assured him that he had been eminently successful.
Here, then, was a solace for his wounded spirit,
pure and honourable in its nature, and leaving no
sting behind; and by this he proposed banishing
unavailing regrets. That his talents had found a
rare opportunity for development in the numerous
and varied phenomena which were continually afforded
in the western emporium will be readily conceived.

The dweller in cities is enabled at a glance to
view all the varieties that are comprehended within
the wide-spread boundaries of human character. If

his mind is formed of plastic and yielding materials,
he soon becomes in habit and manners a fac-simile
of the mass by whom he is surrounded, and might
be safely exported to any portion of the civilized
globe as a living sample of his genus. But while
the attrition of continual contact and intercourse
thus casts the ordinary specimens of humanity in
one uniform mould, its effects on the more gifted
order of mankind are “wide as the poles asunder.”

In remote districts, where primeval nature is exhibited
in all its rude sublimity, the child of genius
adapts his conceptions to the bold and striking objects
that reign in silent and solemn majesty around
him; but in the thronged mart, where the lights
and shadows of human character are continually
presented to his vision, he attains the higher power
of depicting the feelings and passions of his kind,
and grasps as it were in the palm of his hand those
moral elements which exercise, in their subtle and
expanded operations, so potent an influence on the
destinies of his species. Presented in this view, the
gifted citizen is capable of wielding a more extended
influence in forming national and individual character,
than he whose lot has been cast in less multitudinous
communities; nor can it justly be averred
that he is less felicitous in the description of those
natural objects which constitute so imposing a feature
in most literary efforts.

The constant practice of catching “the manners
living as they rise” imparts a ready appreciation of

the beautiful and sublime, in both the moral and
physical world, while the rare opportunities afforded
the citizen of beholding nature in her simple attire,
lend attraction to the prospect unknown to the daily
observer of her beauties.

Trained in this school, Clifton in early life employed
a portion of his leisure hours in throwing off
graphic sketches of the beautiful scenery which skirted
the banks of the noble river whose waters lave the
northern boundary of the city of New-York, or in
delineating the prominent characteristics of those
moral excrescences which are indigenous to all
overgrown and densely populated communities. In
the indulgence of this talent, the habit of reflection
had been acquired and exercised, until the regions
of solitude became for him peopled with more
interesting companions than those by whom he was
daily jostled along the crowded thoroughfares, or in
the thronged courts where pleasure holds her revels.

The circumstances under which he had been compelled
to expatriate himself, induced him to procure
lodgings in a quiet and retired situation, where the
ministers of justice would find difficulty in ascertaining
his whereabout, if unhappily Ellingbourne's
death should cause pursuit. Fortunately for his
purpose of employing his time in literary undertakings
the son of his landlady was connected with
the publication of one of the most celebrated magazines
of the day, and on learning that Clifton had
finished some sketches in prose and verse, he kindly

volunteered to introduce them to the notice of the
senior editor.

To Clifton's great gratification they were accepted,
and after a brief period the emolument arising
from their publication was sufficient to defray the
expenses of his economical mode of living.

To give the reader some idea of his talents, we
subjoin a poetical effusion, which is selected not as
the best specimen of his composition, but as affording
a mirror in which his feelings were reflected.