Lionel Granby, Chapter VII [pp. 94-96]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
Scenes unfrequented by the feet of men
Display his goodness, and proclaim his might:
He feeds the wild deer in the secret glen,
And the young eagles on the craggy height.
His mighty arm the vivid lightning speeds,
And bursts the clouds that o'er the hills impend:
The mountain stream through distant lands he leads
And Joy and Melody his steps attend.
To trace his wonders through each varying clime,
And all his mercies to the sons of men,
Fills the rapt soul with ecstacy sublime
Beyond the effort of the poet's pen.
O Solitude! how blissful are the hours
Among thy shades in heavenly musing past,
When Nature leads us through her secret bowers,
And Contemplation spreads the rich repast.
Among the haunts of men the thoughtful mind
That fain would rise above the things of earth,
Finds its bold flights on every hand confined,
By care distracted, and seduced by mirth.
But in the deep and solemn hour of night
The soul luxuriates in a scene like this:
From cliff to cliff she wings her daring flight
O'er foaming cataract or dark abyss.
Or else, uplifted o'er the things of time,
By heavenly Faith from all her bonds set firee,
Among the fields of ether soars sublime,
And holds communion with the Deity.
Oh! how transporting is the glorious thought
That He whose power controls yon worlds above,
Is ever nigh-and ever found when sought
To save and bless us with a father's love.
Even his chastisements are with mercy fraught,
And seal instruction on the attentive mind.
Driven by disease these distant shades I sought,
And all the fruitless cares of life resigned:
'Twas there He met me, and in mercy healed
The raging fevers that my strength deprest,
His love paternal to my soul revealed,
And swell'd the tide of rapture in my breast.
Oh! then, my heart, may'st thou continual turn
To Him whose power alone can guide thy ways:
May love divine upon thine altar burn,
And every thought and feeling speak His praise.
LIONEL GRANBY.
CHAP. VII.
He was too good for war, and ought to be
As far from danger, as from fear he's free.-Cowley.
"You are an accomplished Lovelace, Lionel!" said
one of a merry throng, collected around a wine table.
"Poor Miss Ellen Pilton is now fondly trusting to your
mellow song of flattery and promise. Here's to her
health! and to that of every pretty woman with a silly
heart, and a credulous ear."
"'Tis pledged," cried I, forgetting every feeling of
honor in the incense offered to my vanity, "and may
each of you be equally successful."
The words were scarcely uittered by me, nor had the
glass touched my lips, ere I received a violent blow in
the face, which sent me reeling to the extremity of the
room. Rising with shame fromn my debasing posture,
I encountered the eye of Pilton, fixed on me with a
firm, cool, and deliberate gaze, and in an instant, my
dirk was pointed to his heart. I looked in his face with
a stern, malignant, and merciless triumph, yet his color
neither blanched-nor did his countenance quail. "Let
him alone!" cried twenty voices, "he is unarmed, give
him fair play;" and I thank God, that in the tempest of
my rage I was sufficiently alive to this appeal to my
manhood, suddenly to throw the vulgar weapon away.
"Base coward!" cried I, "I will not assassinate youbut remember that your blood alone, can cleanse this
foul and dastardly assault."
"You have insulted my sister," he replied, "and I
have punished your falsehood. 1 fear neither your attempt at assassination-nor the resentment of that
baseness which can trample on unprotected innocence.
Remember, Mr. Granby, that the blow which you received was from a brother's hand! and if you be a gentleman, your infamy will be deepened by the seething
recollections of your own conscience."
"You have done wrong Lionel!" said many voices,
"tell him, that you did not see him enter the room
when the toast was offered, or you would not have
wounded his feelings."
" Who dictates to me?" said I,-" who measures my
honor? who controls my revenge? for whoever dare
treat me with such impertinent freedom, I will hold as
an enemy, whom I will pursue to the grave. As for
you, Mr. Pilton-you will understand to-morrowa."
My couch that night was one of utter wretchedness,
and my revenge was lashed into bitterness, by the whip
of sleepless conscience. That I should in a moment of
folly have committed an act disgraceful to a gentlemanthat I should, under the excitement of puerile vanity,
have offered myself to the just resentment of my enemy-that I should thus foolishly lose the "vantage
ground," which I had long and anxiously soughtthat 1 should be stung and tortured by a consciousness
of impropriety-and that I should bear on my proud
cheek, the scorching blush of a public insult, were
feelings which conspired to humble and cheapen me to
the lowest point of mental and personal degradation.
Where duelling is a passion-and where public opinion calls it chivalry, it is easy to procure a second, and
I was saved the trouble of seeking one by the voluntary
offer of the young man who had given the offensive
toast to my vanity. Early on the next morning, the
warlike missive, graced with the usual courtesies, was
sent to Pilton, and in a short time I received the following answer-a brief, though comprehensive commentary
on the truisms and philosophy of cowardice.
Sir-I cannot-I will not fight a duel. I owe duties
to my country, my God, and my family, dependent on
a life which none but a fool would idly risk. I am not
sufficiently base to murder you-nor am 1 silly enough
to offer my life to your malignant revenge. I have no
right to kill you-therefore, I shall not attempt it. I
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