THE DANCE OF DEATH. ae. 13
miniature, and placing it before him, proceeded as follows:—
“During that gay period of youth when we are so apt to prefer the illusive promises of fancy to the realities of life, it was my fortune to form an acquaintance, which, notwithstanding the naturally dreamy tendency. of my mind, soon concentrated all its attehiion on the dreary scenes which are actually presented in this our confined existence.—-Some time before the period of which I speak, during the English attack on Copenhagen in 1801, the students had formed “a military corps of their own; but its spirit and discipline had been rapidly on the decline during the years of peace which followed, till the patri- otic enthusiasm of its founders was again roused by the arrival of that remarkable year which witnessed the approach of the British army to the shores of Denmark. The students, old and young, flocked back with redoubled zeal to their neglected colours; the rapid succession of events which followed—the blockade of the capital, animating every breast with zeal—the sympa-
thetic inflnence of enthusiasm, had cemented the ties of acquaintance and friendship among young men formerly but little acquainted with each other, and united them after the fatigues of the day in little joyous clubs and societies, where animating war-songs and patriotic sentiments soon banished those gloomy feelings which the existing state of matters would occasionally in- spire.
“On these occasions, 1 had frequently met with a young man, to whom at first I was con- scious of entertaining a feeling of dislike, thouglt I felt unable to ascribe it to any other cause than the difference gf our habits and personal appear- ance. He was not tall, but slenderly made, and With featumes of great delicacy. His clear and piercings eygroften wandered over the scene about bim arestless but penetrating glance.
There ething noisy and extravagant in
hist ich revolted me, because it appear-
ed cémé from the heart; the loud laughter
with which he generally accompanied his some-
what far-fetched witticisms, seemed to be less
the offspring of gaiety, than of a mind that
mocked itself Selfish even in his convivial
moments, it seemed to be his study to maintain
his superiority over his companions even in his
mirth; and fhe recklessness with which he oc-
casionally assailed his friends, produced a painful
impression 6n myself, and on all.
“At othér times his deép and overpowering melancholy kept every friend at a distance. The study*which he professed rsue was medicine, but his friends said, ittle success; for while engaged most earnestly in his studies, a strange fit of anxiety and restlessness would come over him; he would throw his books aside, desert his classes, and either wander about in a state of listless idleness, though without plunging into any dissipation, (for the care he took of his health seemed almost ludicrous,) ortevote himself with assiduitHto drawing and painting, for which he had a decided turn. He had considerable skill
~in miniature-painting on ivory, and his efforts in this department were always at the service of his friends. When he devoted his pencil to other subjects, his drawings had invariably something of a gloomy character. Snakes were seen lurk- ing under his flowers; funeral processions issu- ing from some lovely vine-covered habitation; corpses floating on the waves of a sunny sea; his ’ y revelled in the strangest, the most varied fulléreal devices; while, in all his sketches there
was something which left upon the mind a feeling ~
of a disagreeable kind.
“You who are acquainted with me as I then was, will see at once, that there could be but few points of contact between myself Reon nuel, for such was his Christian name.” ™ time the bombardment had commenced; the dé- structive bombs scattered ruin in all directions, no place of security was to be found. The day was even more terrible than the night, for there was something peculiarly appalling in the hissing of the balls, and the bursting of the Congreve rockets, which deafened us on every side, while- they were invisible to the eye.
“A small division of the corps to which I be- longed, had one day received orders to occupy a bastion. 1 had been .a little too late, but was hastening after my comrades, and had already come in sight of them, when a bomb falling in the midst of four or five of them who were stand-
ing together, burst at that instant, killing almost #
all of them, anu scattering their mangled limbs ~_ —
» Bh
into the air. The others, who were not far off,
“fled, as might be expected, and were still engaged “©
“in attending to their own safety, when I, per- s
ceiving that the danger was over, and eager to
afford such assistance as was in my power, hur-
ried up to the scene of the catastrophe.
“A young man was standing among the mangled corpses, pale and motionless, but appa- rently unhurt. It was Emanuel. “ Who is kill- ed?’ was my first question. He looked up, turned his clear piercing eyes upon me, and was silent. Suddenly he smote his hands together; the tears rushed into his eyes, and with a voice interrupted by loud sebs, he pronounced the name of an amiable youth, the promising heir“of a respect- able civil officer, and, strange enough, our com- mon friend. . 1 repeated the name with a shud- dering tone. “ Alas! alas!’ said he,“ it is even so, and I am unhurt; not.two minutes before he had accidentally changed places with me. He is taken#find I am left; O would I were in his place now? Do not mistake me,’ continued he, as I gazed on him with astonishment, “ thigis no burst of friendship; 1 love’ existence far more dearly than 1 did him; but better this death, than a slow, a terrible one!’
“What gloomy ideas are*these!’ said I; “ Iét us go and’——
“Eqjoy ourselves!—is it not so?’ interrggaa he; “ to laugh, and to forget!’
“No, friend,’ replied I; “1 have little incli- nation at present for enjoyment—but to fulfil our duty.’
“ In the meantime our comrades had returned
