my attention. How he came to the concert was a mystery; he was evidently out of place. His pockets were crammed with papers, and, totally indifferent to the music, he seemed to be correcting "proof" on the top of his hat. Out of his waistcoat pocket a series of cylinders just appeared, which might have suggested the Pandean pipes, but on a closer view I saw that it was a physician's vade mecum. This, then, was probably a member of the learned societies, one of the "eminent gravities" at college commencements, and a safe editor of old books, on whose title-page a long tail of initials is flourished. Could he find no place wherein to pore over his disentombed and useless erudition except in Beethoven Hall? Would the mousing owl leave the dismal thicket where he had so long lived solitary, and willingly come to the daylight gathering of gay birds? Madame, his richly dressed wife, must surely have captured him for the occasion-and perhaps with him her other neighbor, a young inan with handsome features, and with the visible impress of genius on his brow. Whenever the Doctor turned from his papers, it was to smile benignantly upon the youth. What could be the bond of union between this incongruous trio? The young man must be an author or an artist; some slight indicia favored the former supposition.

Just then the music swelled into a triumphant strain, such as might have greeted Napoleon (the Great) on his return to Paris. Every heart kindled at the sound. Madame stopped toying with her fan; even Doctor Owl crumpled his papers and looked about him as if in wonder at the visible enthusiasm of the audience, and at the unwonted brilliancy of the air; but the blood did not quicken in him; it could only doze through its stagnant canals as usual. The flush of exhilaration on the face of the ambitious youth was in strong contrast with the languid affectation of indifference in the woman of fashion, and with the skinny, parchment-colored face of Doctor Owl. Both of them regarded the face of the bright-eyed enthusiast with admiration. Presto! A change of the key brought a purple tinge. What baleful glances now seemed to shoot from the eyes of this strange pair!-the one eagerly selfish, heartless, while in the other the drooping eyelid, the slightly protruding lips and the heaving bosom, told the old, old story. "Fly, young eagle," I almost exclaimed. "Yonder owl will pluck your wings to soar with; and his mate

if you

could see her face under this light, it would be enough."

A young man with silken moustaches and delicate features, his hands cased in spotless gloves, sat beside a girl who might in Paris have been taken for a grisette. Evident disparity in rank, as the world has settled it, raised a wall between them. True manliness might level it, but, alas, if he does pass over, how likely is it that it will be by stealthily climbing like a thief! While he whispered she cast her eyes upon her pretty foot that kept unconscious time to a delicious air. Under the influence of the music, which now was like Vedrai Carino in its tender simplicity, listening to the honeyed words which were breathed in her ear, the maiden was lulled into a dream of love. I almost thought that Herr Regenbogen had observed the net spread for her; for the key changed with a stunning violence. Crimson flushed the face of the suitor, telling of nightly debauchery, and from his eye glared a lurid flame. Could the simple girl have looked up the spell would have been broken. But she did not.

.

The unequalled excellence of this music, accompanied by the unearthly lights that glowed or trembled or danced through the air, appeared to me to evince such supernatural power, that I wondered at the comparative indifference which the audience manifested. It is true they were enthusiastic in their admiration, and applauded to the echo every marked passage; but it was merely such enthusiasm as I had witnessed when Jenny Lind sang; it was the tribute which genius in its higher manifestations always obtains. But this unheard-of art, which compassed all height and depth and mastered the very soul of the listener, and to which the elements of the material world seemed to be in perfect obedience, appeared to me to be but imperfectly appreciated. It was, doubtless, owing to the fact that Herr Regenbogen had wisely brought the audience by easy and almost insensible degrees, from their delight in merely mechanical effects up to the influence of the profoundest ideas that lie in the reach of the human faculties. Accordingly, whilst these last and almost miraculous results were produced, though the attention of all was riveted, yet it was not a painful or enforced silence: every one seemed at ease; and the occasional whisper, the sidelong glance, the adjustment of ornaments, the relief-giving change of position, all were part of the usual experience of concert goers. A few enthusiastic people

seemed to me to sympathize with my own highly wrought feelings; and it relieved me to find myself justified by their example, so that I might be sure I was neither dreaming, nor pursued by the thick coming fancies of insanity.

Among the faces thus lighted up was that of a lady dressed in black sitting under the balcony with a bright boy of eight or ten years by her side. Poverty was not wholly concealed by her mourning garb, nor by the neatness which marked her own and her boy's appearance. Under the oppressive splendor her eyes were downcast, and her face pale. The boy looked up inquiringly, putting his little hand in hers. Again the key changed, and the hall was filled with an indescribable rosy and golden light, such as the west casts on mountain and cloud when the sun pauses on the horizon. A heavenly melody floated out upon the air, while every rare and delicate device of instrumentation was employed to buoy it up and heighten its beauty. Even the immortal trio in Don Giovanni never affected me so deeply. The widow's soft eyes were suffused with tears, and their upward glances seemed commercing with the skies." Was not the spirit of the husband near to enjoy with her that wondrous music, and to know with what tender affection she cherished his memory?

My attention was soon recalled to the orchestra, for I heard the prelude to a new movement. A few violins, a violoncello, horn, flute, bassoon and harp, were detailed as an advance corps, leaving the main army to follow in reserve. Very few persons who have attempted to put their impressions of music on paper can be as ignorant as I am of the mathematics on which the science rests. I do not know the name of a single chord; and as for modulations I have not the least idea of the laws which govern them. Still, long experience as a listener, and an instinct which musicians tell me rarely errs, enable me to detect errors and appreciate excellencies even in the minutest effects. Therefore I cannot tell what charm Herr Regenbogen had given to this final movement; but it was beyond my highest conception. Airs danced to each other in ceaseless play, sparkling like gold fishes. The low tone that closed some delicate strain supported on its firm base a troop of melodies that came leaping and carolling after it; each of which in turn rested as the foundation for a new display. Then came a period of repose. The exuberance of spirits that had animated the principal

instruments subsided, and all blended into a choral strain so full and perfect in its harmony that another element could not be imagined. Over this stream of music

"Deep, majestic, smooth and strong,"

I heard the silvery vibrations of a harp as it was touched by a master hand; and I strove to catch the countenance of the player who could create such 'sounds. But the lights danced over the orchestra like ignes fatui. Mists seemed to envelope the harp as with a dim cloud that shook into widening circles with every_vibration, forming a glory around it. I could see no object clearly. As in a battle the spectator sees through the smoke and the confused crush of men, now an arm with blazing sword, now a lance, now colors waving, and now a rearing horse, so in the spot whence the music issued, I caught glimpses of instruments and players through the rosy mist. And the harp seemed to be the same which is immortalized in the old ballad,―made from the breast-bone of a woman; for I saw the yellow hair glisten as those gentle fingers caressed it.

"A famous harper passing by,

Binnorie, O Binnorie, The sweet pale face he chanced to spy

By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie. And when he looked that lady on, Binnorie, O Binnorie, He sighed and made a heavy moan,

By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie,
He made a harp of her breast-bone,
Binnorie, &c.
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone,
By the bonny, &c.

The strings he framed of her yellow hair,
Binnorio, &c.

Whose notes made sad the listening ear,
By the bonny, &c."

With such delight the moments passed, that the loud shouts, the universal clapping of hands, and the general movement of the audience, first indicated to me the close of the concert. I did not applaud; the noisy tribute of hands and feet seemed a most unfit manifestation. I remained fixed upon my seat while the fading colors fluttered through the lofty room and melted in the cool ashy twilight that came in at the upper windows. When the musicians had all gone, when Herr Regenbogen had picked up the fragrant flowers that were now incontestably his, and the last straggling auditor was leaving the darkening hall, I stepped into the street, alone though in a crowd, and went to my solitary room.

*

NOT many days ago, in strolling through

the town, I found myself, a little to my surprise, in the midst of Wall-street; and I could not help looking disrespectfully upon the Jews and Gentiles in concussion there. Somewhere in those years which lie between primitive adolescence, and my present advanced (?) period of life, and which I shall always regard as the Middle and Dark Ages of my experience, fate, and not free-will, saw me, in financial masses lost. a clerkly pedarian of this very street. And now as I stood there once more, a heretic to its Greed, I could not but look back with a sort of horror at the time when I labored there with thousands of others, old and young, mournfully realizing, how inevitably even my humble case had come under the Divine injunction that man only "in the sweat of his face should eat bread!" I do not mean to say, by this, that I was disposed to repine at a misfortune which had fallen on all mankind alike. On the contrary, I was prepared to struggle as hard as any body; only I dreaded much the being obliged to "sweat my face" after the particular manner of Wall-street. For to be industrious there I felt to be no less than deliberately winding one's self into the thickest meshes of the curse; and, of course, as deliberately putting all the finer feelings of the soul in jeopardy every hour.

In Wall-street, then, I fancied that I could see the malediction rampant-while, elsewhere, I could conceive it to be under some degree of restraint. Frequently as I cast my eyes over that blighted waste, and watched its fevered crowds rushing to and fro, I thought that if ever a curse did lift itself into a living, breathing, imperious reality, this one certainly did

"The Metamorphoses of Labor.

there. Indeed it was no difficult matter to imagine Mammon to stand, amid those stony purlieus, like an invisible taskmaster, driving men with a lash of terrific excitements, as if they were but quarry slaves, to dig and delve far away from the free air and sunshine of a higher life. I remember how, even to my boyish mind, this slavery to the infatuation of accumulating wealth seemed almost to assume such a horrible aspect as this. It really appeared as if some diabolical power had let loose its malignant influences upon the street, and that the subtle influx had penetrated the very souls of men, till they all seemed possessed with but one common idea, and to be living under formative principles wholly adverse to those of their nature.

This will appear by no means a too forcible description, if any one will but take into consideration the natures of these men, while yet unsophisticated-when their finer sensibilities, purer tastes, deeper faculties, and diviner aptitudes had not begun to take a lower place. Then to see the great Natural Order of God designing man for one direction, and an artificial system of things whirling him in another, is a sight curious enough, and wonderful enough to amaze any one who is capable of being amazed or startled at any thing. I present the fact simply in a philosophic light; yet, as I write, there gathers also about it a sort of grandeur which might appeal even to the highest poetic sense.

I can recollect pondering upon all this then, and how sensuous the whole phenomena seemed! And I can remember wondering too (naturally enough, I think,) how I could take care of my life while pursuing the perilous process of getting a living. To get a living, and, at

the same time, to keep the native characteristics of one's life intact-here was an incongruous enterprise indeed for the meridian of Wall-street, and a 'fancy' which its stolid bulls and bears would fail to see the value of.

If men must labor, thought I, how much better to labor at that which developed their moral and intellectual capacities, and which, at the same time, brought with it the necessaries of life. It appeared a feasible plan, and indeed a duty, for some at least, thus to make the support of existence subsidiary to its end. Let some men, for instance, devote themselves to Science, others to Art, others to Literature, others to Philosophy, for what is strongly congenial with a man is the Call of Nature to him, and, therefore, most literally his proper vocation.

To

But yet I knew of a grander direction still which a mind might take; for in it flowed the uses and fascination of all these, and infinitely more besides. It was grand, moreover, because it called into being the purest energies of the soul, and therefore drew sublimely near the great original Vocation of the whole human race. be sure it may be said of all men that they are required to follow it, and to sympathize earnestly with its modes of unfolding their inmost being; but, strictly speaking, it is an occupation only to that favored few who would devote to it exclusively every faculty of their nature.

Of all pursuits this was to me the most glorious, and, while standing down among those dingy haunts of traffic, it seemed as if I beheld religion afar off, opening wide her everlasting gates as into an Elysium of Thought; and I knew that within its meditative walks, winding into mysteries deeper than any labyrinth, the clangor and tumult of the mercenaries around me were never heard. For religion then, as now, appeared to me not as the exponent only of a single fervor of the heart, but of that broad, rich conception of life, and that lofty recognition of its supernatural circumstances, without which no man has a true manhood nor even common sense. But it is not my object now to advocate this idea. Suffice it, that had only literature and philosophy been the enchanted garden for me, I should have left Wall-street just as I did.

Some will call it religion that drew the graphic contrast of the natural and the artificial before my mind-some will call it philosophy. Be that as it may, religion, in its largest sense, has always appeared to me the divinest philosophy, and philosophy, carried out, but the synonym of re

ligion. They both call upon man to maintain his manhood by giving simplicity, earnestness, and mental dignity to his nature. They both require the clearest vision of the true state of things on earth, and demand a course of action in accordance with it. I will not, even at the risk of digressing too far, omit this mention of the sublime authority to which I was indebted for a wisdom that is sometimes greater in children than in men.

Thus with new purposes did I prepare to launch again upon the sea of life-well knowing it to be not altogether a commercial sea-and I therefore unworshipped the gilded machinery of finance, and started upon the voyage of endeavor without a curse as a propeller; and although perhaps progressive Young Theology, built after the spirit of the age, may run the risk of being blown about by every wind of doctrine, yet I rely, without much fear, upon that inspiration which, while it bloweth where it listeth, one cannot tell whence it cometh, nor whither it goeth.

But my metaphor of the sea has carried me all abroad. Not six years ago I bade farewell to Wall-street, and saw its gates, not very heavenly, and yet on golden hinges turning," close upon me with a most bounding sense of relief. I was out of prison. What a field of effort was before me ! Youth must be spared its ecstasies, and be pardoned for them too. How liberal was to be the occupation of my future life! To acquire knowledge instead of wealth, to speculate philosophically, and not financially, to spend my time in the pursuit of the Good, the Beautiful and the True, and not in dealing with Shylock, depreciating " fancies." and detecting counterfeits. I really must be excused if I grow enthusiastic over the glory of my expectations, and estimate as beyond all money and all price, the property in which I have invested my little all of head and heart. Yet, although I will not, cannot, put it up to desecration by offering it for sale, most gladly will I "share and share alike" with any free and natural spirit, all the first fruits of its discovery and possession. First fruits-for these, as yet, are all that I have garnered-but to have garnered even these, let me say, confers a greater title to this Real Estate than all preliminary talk and chaffering with time and opportunity.

Real Estate did I call it? Yes, well worthy is it of the name. Real and ideal, all in one-no less than the broad domain of the landlord of the universe

offered in fief for ever to the tenure of the intellect. Estate, real as the sun which shines upon it; real as the vital influences which ascend from earth's centre to beautify it. Estate, real in its loveliness, real in its truth, real in its excellence. An estate limitless as the universe, and in perpetual bloom with its opening secrets; of whose abundance are the ideal glories of nature; and whose returns are of knowledge, a good measure, pressed down and running over.

I have often been at a loss for some illustration, so vividly descriptive that I might convey at once my whole impression of life in Wall-street, as compared with the life above it, and I was so fortunate as to have one occur to me the other day, during my accidental visit. The illustration was so striking, and all the circumstances of finding it so full of what I might call mental incident, that I shall always look back upon that contemplative stroll with peculiar pleasure.

As I again stood there and looked around me, I felt the same influence upon my imagination which I had felt years ago, when I surveyed the magnitude, almost majesty of its interests, so fitly represented by those ornate and massive structures erected, if not exactly like the tower of Babel to reach heaven, certainly to overreach earth. And here too were the builders thereof, symbolizing a diversity of operations by a confusion of tongues, breaking in rudely upon the amenities of life, bearlike, trampling down its best affections, and, bull-like, tossing up its baser tendencies. Yes, here I saw the builders thereof, "mighty men, and men of renown," who, taking too anxious thought for the morrow, were rearing high upon this modern Shinar a refuge of immeasurable folly, and stirring up, with the infatuation, the dialects of the whole earth.

But, one step out of Wall-street, and I stood at the base of a tower, which, unlike that upon the banks of the Euphrates, held aloft the golden sceptre of the Messiah, and pointed to an asylum that was unattainable by human effort alone. I went up its spiral stairway, and in a few moments stood upon this pinnacle of the temple, and what a change was here! What a new aspect had every thing assumed! All around me I beheld the unintercepted dip of the horizon. The infinite was above my head, and the sun. blazed out from its blue depths upon river and bay. Four cities lay clustered together beneath me, and their rich circumference of hill and dale seemed to shrink VOL. IV.-3

from before their hot and dingy contact.

Wall-street lay stretched out from my very feet like a stony defile to the river, and there I stood fifty times taller than my fellow-men within it. To all intents and purposes I was a Colossus. Had my form been in the proportion of my vision, like the image at Rhodes, I could have crossed the Narrows at a stride, and had whole navies ride between my feet. As I looked down upon the place which I had but just quitted, I seemed to allegorize the conflicting states my mind had been in a few years before. Just now, as then, I had been overshadowed by its stupendous reality, and nearly overcome by its magnificent appeal to the popular notion of glory and importance. Just now, as then, I had begun to doubt whether I could be right in the theory of life I cherished, when I saw thousands of better judgment than I, putting to the most practical test a theory which I deemed altogether counterfeit and worthless. Where I now stood I could repeat the saying, with absolute conviction of its truth, "What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue,"-but, while down there the granite Exchange, despite of me, would loom out the most substantial shadow I ever saw; the Custom-house of these United States would not imitate its model, the ancient Parthenon, so far as to crumble into ruins; the heavy rows of Institutions, corporate and rock-ribbed, refused to shake and tumble before their time; nor would the glistening fortunes of the rich, like the golden coins in the Arabian tale, appal their owners by turning into leaves.

So it was. I really found it difficult to summon impudence enough to face out my own matured convictions, before such an array of logic in its corporate and architectural cogency, and, at the same time, keep the peace with myself for not being a modest man. But up there in the spire of Trinity, the aspect of it all was altered, and I now stood upon my vantageground, and could gain the senses round to my side of the argument. As I looked upon those cities lying below in the dim distance, like models of wood made strangely accurate, how every thing in heaven and earth seemed to assume their relative consequence! How dwindled to nothing were edifices and men in the foreshortening perspective of a vertical glance!

I had around me the natural and the artificial; but just beneath me the natural had been sepulchred by the arti