“Shelldrake could only ejaculate the words, ‘Pity!’ ‘Forgive!’ in his most contemptuous tone; while Mrs. Shelldrake, rocking violently in her chair, gave utterance to that peculiar clucking ‘ts, ts, ts, ts,’ whereby certain women express emotions too deep for words.

“Abel, roused by Hollins’ question, answered, with a sudden energy,—­

“Love! there is no love in the world.  Where will you find it?  Tell me, and I’ll go there.  Love!  I’d like to see it!  If all human hearts were like mine, we might have an Arcadia; but most men have no hearts.  The world is a miserable, hollow, deceitful shell of vanity and hypocrisy.  No:  let us give up.  We were born before our time:  this age is not worthy of us.’

“Hollins stared at the speaker in utter amazement.  Shelldrake gave a long whistle, and finally gasped out,—­

“‘Well, what next?’

“None of us were prepared for such a sudden and complete wreck of our Arcadian scheme.  The foundations had been sapped before, it is true; but we had not perceived it; and now, in two short days, the whole edifice tumbled about our ears.  Though it was inevitable, we felt a shock of sorrow, and a silence fell upon us.  Only that scamp of a Perkins Brown, chuckling and rubbing his boot, really rejoiced.  I could have kicked him.

“We all went to bed, feeling that the charm of our Arcadian life was over....  In the first revulsion of feeling, I was perhaps unjust to my associates.  I see now, more clearly, the causes of those vagaries, which originated in a genuine aspiration, and failed from an ignorance of the true nature of Man, quite as much as from the egotism of the individuals.  Other attempts at reorganizing Society were made about the same time by men of culture and experience, but in the A.C. we had neither.  Our leaders had caught a few half-truths, which, in their minds, were speedly warped into errors.” ...—­The Atlantic Monthly, February, 1862.

WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.

(Born, 1825.)

* * * * *

Dobbs his ferry.

A Legend of the Lower Hudson.

  The days were at their longest,
  The heat was at its strongest,
    When Brown, old friend and true,
  Wrote thus:  “Dear Jack, why swelter
  In town when shade and shelter
    Are waiting here for you? 
  Quit Bulls and Bears and gambling,
  For rural sports and rambling
    Forsake your Wall Street tricks;
  Come without hesitation,
  Check to Dobbs’ Ferry Station,
    We dine at half-past six.”

  I went,—­a welcome hearty,
  A merry country party,
    A drive, and then croquet,
  A quiet, well-cooked dinner,
  Three times at billiards winner,—­
    The evening sped away;
  When Brown, the dear old joker,
  Cried, “Come, my worthy broker,
    The hour is growing late;
  Your room is cool and quiet,
  As for the bed, just try it,
    Breakfast at half-past eight.”