The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-03-03


on Monte, with that Spanish girl leaning on
his shoulders, her dark eye flashing ominously
from beneath her broad sombrero as she toys
with his hair in her dainty jewelled fingers,
and watches him throwing his money away
into the bank whose profits she shares. Is
she, Bella, queen though she be, the toast of
Lima once, and most magnificent woman here
is she tit companion for him, Jasper, the an
chor-stamped, the lover the noble the man of
such broad plans, of such high ambition
Even SO. She IS fit companion, for Alexander
hath come down to the Thas-level and is no
divinity now, to scorch her into Semelelike
cinders, if she should demand to see him in his
Olympian effulgence. This, then, is his life
CONNIE IL fault! This is the direction taken by
that spirit, which, once developed, was to find
nothing impossiblel This is the Jacks bean.
stalk he was to grow into And this is the
Jasper that was so sternly resolved to work,
to work, to work to set out and conquer the
world itself; who so laughed at his feilow-mi-
ners when he learned the way in which they
proposed to spend their money; this is he, the
high schemeri
Alas alas Is he then SO utterly fallen?
Observe him. Notice his pale, wan, haggard
lace; his eyes so heavy, so red, so black-cir-
cled notice how his hand shakes as he carries
that glass of brandy to his lips and drains it
notice his harsh reckless laugh, his defiant tones
notice how he lavishes his money, as if he were
the master of all the deposits at Burgoyne &
Cos. All, yes, fallen, but not fallen so low
that he may not attain to a lower depth nor,
indeed, that he may not entirely recover him.
SELF Except SO far as the truth of the adage,
Qude peccamas jurenes edluimus senes, holds,")
though he is going ever downward now-Jour-
nal unkept work not done, thoughts of home
banished, anchor forgotten, all things sunk and
drowned in this one wild riot of wine, game
and debauchery. But neither so hopeless is
is he, nor so culpable, as you might imagine.
Less culpable, because plunged so young and
SO inexperienced into this dazzling whirl which
has turned many older and more sedate heads
than his. To the Modern Faust your Mephis
tophiles could have offered no stronger fascina
ton than Californian gambling house in these
days, as an integral element in California life
No Auerbach's cellar could become so attract
i've as Its festal splendor and glare no Marga-
ret could win you on to the Indebtedness of sin,
so surely as these lost women, with their bright
eyes, their studied, elaborate arts, and their
reckless, despairing laughter; no witches sab
bath on Blocksberg, nor dazzling Imperial
Court, nor weird vision Of matchless Helena,
called Gfelike from the shades, could in any
way compete with the glare, and glitter, and
strangeness, of the whole scene. One went in
and on, shivering and apprehensive, but as ir-
resistibly impelled as was the Kalif towards the
Halls of Ebls. And the reason is palpable
enough. There was no society, no life, else
where. There were no homes All comforts
were banished from this great caravansary of a
city, and into the gambling houses only, the
outward sembance of care did not presume to
venture. Here, at least whatever arrows of
anguish rusted in their hearts, men affected to
make merry, and women to be gay. Here the
latent lower senses were reused into activity by
an irresistible succession of attractions Here
you could feast, while outdoors you were either
starved or choked with filthy food, at which
every refined sense revolted here the eye could
! please itself with the brilliancy Of light, the
large reproducing mirrors, the artistic tout en-
sen6te. Even the pictures were well executed,
though obscene in subject, and lascivious in
treatment. Here was wine to rouse your spir-
its; here were men of fame and power, gifted
conversatonalists, the erratic geniuses of all
CHIMES and nations, eager to display their gifts
and win hearing of your raptured ears here
were women beautiful as Venus Anadvomene.
skilled in all Sybarite arts, and able to drag
one blndly on, drunken with the sweet delri-
um they inspired, whithersoever they listed
here was music, the pomp of orchestral sounds,
the sweet tenors and sopranos remembered
from old times at home, and supplying void
long felt acutey; here was the clink and golden
flash of money, money to be won by the turn
of card, fortunes to be made, Injuries and
deticiae, purchasable in an half hours venture
and here too is to be had, perhaps, that sweet
oblivion which we so much aspire after, that
dulcet oblivion which so gently and soothingly
lnterposes between our deed of sin and our
thought of misery and, shutting out the glar-
ingness of the one, hangs its vail of lotos-vapor
over the other likewise. And into this hell
plunged Jasper, knowing so little of life, open
so much to these deirant destinations, desiring
so much this purchasable oblivion plunged
IN, with bankers, judges, scholars, orators, ay,
divines;"* all men doing it, and not all suffer
ing-why should it be so very wrong, so very
hurtful? tl
Not so hopeless, either, was Jasper's case.
The poison may have been flung into the stream,
but, so far atleast as Jasper was concerned, the
deep fountain-head that supplied it still ran
clear and pure. Outwardly a gambler and a
liver as those around him lived, Jasper was, in
his heart, still the Jasper of old, loathing the
foulness he consorted with, and loathing him
self because of that cOnsorting. And, paradox
cal as it may seem, this very loathing was
fraught with more danger to him than all the
.fascinations Of card, cup, and woman, than all
the idleness and rioting to which he was giving
himself mp. For the fruit of loathing is bitter
ness, and of bitterness is born despair, and from
despair we rush blindly toward the brink of the
abyss, seeking thitherward the lotos flower of
oblivion. Not inanity is the fruit of such des
pair, but fury, madness, the voice and deed of
Ajax Furens. And then, we think-and think
"to die-to sleep '-and ponder upon the =" bare
bodkin,' or the painless drug, or the gurgling
flood, with unhealthy frequency.
Scene SecOnd.-Shall picture it, or leave it
to the readers fancy? 1t is some hours later.
Jasper is in his room, and with him Young
man of his own vein Brawny Back, and Abdul
lah, and Bella, the Spanish woman. A few
books are tossed upon the floor. A table has
cards scattered upon it, among tumblers, wine
bottles, jewelry, fruit, &c. Jasper lies on soft
lounge, his head rested against Bella's bosom,
as she sits there, sombrero of, hair half down,
and hanging about her face in wild voluptuous
folds, the little coquettish jacket she had worn
is unfastened in 'front.' and shows the white
chemise, brooch-fastcned, that scarce retains the
ripe swell of her bosom, she reminds one of Mrs.
Morninglory in meglige,) while the velvet
breeches, all belaced and spangled, reveal her
matchless form and the beauteous curve of her
leg, tapering down so nimitably until it termi-
mated in the firm ANGLE and wee doncellas foot.
clad in the dainty satin slippers that only the
Spanish girl knows how to wear A priestess
of the Paphian shrine is she, with her soft, warm,
black eye, her low murmurs, her hot touch, her
voluptuous gestures, her gentle talk, so PRETTY
interspersed with caro- nios and amors, and all
sorts of love-words, with every now and then
a spice of reckless humor, that gave it an addi-
tional charm-as, for instance, her maxim, oft
repeated,
"Baylar al SON que So oca,"
and dancing they have been in reality, being
just returned from a wild fandango, where all
who saw her murmurad