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CRIME SELF-REVEALED.

633

In some respects it has

Gentlemen, this is a most extraordinary case. hardly a precedent anywhere—certainly none in our New England history. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butchery murder, for mere pay. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man to whom sleep was sweet-the first sound slumbers of the night hold him in their soft but strong embrace.

The assassin enters through the window, already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment; with noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges; and he enters and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncommonly light. The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer; and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given, and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion from the repose of sleep to the repose of death! It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work; and he yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over the wound of the poniard! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse! he feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer! It is accomplished! the deed is done! He retreatsretraces his steps to the window, passes through as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder; no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him; the secret is his own, and it is safe!

Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe; "murder will out." True it is that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intently dwell on the scene; shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret.

634

GEMS FROM SHAKSPEARE.

It is false to itself—or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself-it labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant; it finds itself preyed on by a torment which it dares not acknowledge to God or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it asks no sympathy or assistance either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him; and like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master;-it betrays his discretion; it breaks down his courage; it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed; it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but in suicide, and suicide is confession.

T

GEMS FROM SHAKSPEARE.

HEY well deserve to have,

That know the strong'st and surest

way to get.

So Judas kiss'd his Master;
And cried-all hail! when as he
meant,-all harm.

A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honor.

He that is giddy thinks that the world turns round.

A lady's verily is

As potent as a lord's.

What is yours to bestow is not yours to

reserve.

Praising what is lost

Makes the remembrance dear.

What is the city but the people?

Let them obey, that know not how to rule.

A friend i' the court is better than a penny,

in purse.

The plants look up to heaven, from whence
They have their nourishment.

Things in motion sooner catch the eye,
Than what not stirs.

Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks
draw deep.

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities
Make not your thoughts your prisons.
There is no time so miserable but a man may
be true.

Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Receive what cheer you may;
The night is long, that never finds the day.
Wisely and slow: they stumble that run
fast.

Nor ask advice of any other thought
But faith, fulness, and courage.

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Makes the prize light.

What great ones do,

The less will prattle of.

Men are men; the best sometimes forget.
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.
True valor still a true respect should have.
Oft the eye mistakes, the brain being trou-
bled.

Thoughts are but dreams, till their effects be tried.

The old bees die-the young possess the hive.

Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee.

Mar not the thing that cannot be amended.
The hearts of old gave hands
But our new heraldry is-hands, not hearts.
Security

Is mortal's chiefest enemy.
Dull not device by coldness and delay.
Wisely weigh

Our sorrow with our comfort.

A custom

Celerity is never more admired, Than by the negligent.

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The weakest kind of fruit

Drops earliest to the ground.

'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after.

Be to yourself

As you would to your friend.

Trust not him, that hath once broken faith. There's place and means for every man alive. There's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

Small things make base men proud.

A golden mind stoops not to show of dross. How poor an instrument,

May do a noble deed.

Things ill got had ever bad success.
Every cloud engenders not a storm.
Pleasure and action make the hours seem
short.

Direct not him whose way himself will choose.

It is religion that doth make vows kept. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.

There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

Take all the swift advantage of the hours. Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.

'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss. The better part of valour is-discretion. Short-lived wits do wither as they grow. The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. The words of Mercury are harsh after the song of Apollo.

There's small choice in rotten apples.

Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

More honor'd in the breach than the observ- Strong reasons make strong actions.

ance.

Fly pride, says the peacock.

636

THE GROTTO OF ANTIPAROS.

THE GROTTO OF ANTIPAROS

AVERNS, especially those which are situated in limestone, commonly present the formations called stalactites, from a Greek word signifying distillation or dropping. The manner of their production admits of a very plain and simple explanation. They proceed from water trickling through the roofs containing carbonate of lime, held in solution by carbonic acid. Upon exposure to the air the carbonic acid is gradually disengaged, and a pellicle of lime is deposited. The process proceeds, drop after drop, and eventually, descending points hanging from the roof are formed, resembling icicles, which are composed of concentric rings of transparent pellicles of lime, presenting a very peculiar appearance, and, from their connection with each other, producing a variety of singular shapes. These descending points are the stalactites properly so called, from which the stalagmites are to be distinguished, which cover the floors of caverns with conical inequalities. These are produced by the evaporation of the larger drops which have fallen to the bottom, and are stalactites rising upwards from the ground. Frequently, in the course of ages, the ascending and descending points have been so increased as to meet together, forming natural columns, a series of which bears a striking resemblance to the pillars and arches of Gothic architec

ture.

The amount of this disposition which we find in caverns capable of producing it, is, in fact, enormous, and gives us an impressive idea of their extraordinary antiquity. The grotto of Antiparos-one of the islands of the Grecian Archipelago-is particularly celebrated on account of the size and diversity of form of these deposits. It extends nearly a thousand feet beneath the surface, in primitive limestone, and is accessible by a narrow entrance which is often very steeply inclined, but divided by level landing places. After a series of descents, the traveler arrives at the Great Hall, as it is called, the sides and roof of which are covered with immense incrustations of calcareous matter. The purity of the surrounding stone, and the thickness of the roof in which the unfiltered water can deposit all impure admixtures, give to its stalactites a beautiful whiteness. Tall pillars stand in many places free, near each other, and single groups of stalagmites form figures so strongly resembling plants, that Tournefort endeavored to prove from them a vegetable nature in stone. The remark of that intelligent traveler is an amusing example of over confidence:— "Once again I repeat it, it is impossible this should be done by the

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